


ye who are weary, come home

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: 1950s, All Canon Relationships Present and Accounted For, Canon Compliant, Family Reunions, Hopeful Realism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Korean War, Lots and Lots of Bisexuals, Multi, OT3, Original Character(s), Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Post-War, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: “A reunion. All of us. In one place. The people from over there, and the people right... here.” She places a hand over his heart.April 1956, Chicago: The first reunion of the M*A*S*H 4077 surgical staff.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye Pierce" (referenced/implied), B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Donna Marie Parker/Charles Emerson Winchester III, Everyone & Everyone
Comments: 146
Kudos: 210





	1. Christmas Day, 1955

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daylight_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylight_angel/gifts), [blue_raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_raven/gifts), [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



> This was a birthday present for Day, a little late, but given with much love ♥  
> And as usual, thanks to Blue for everything ♥  
>  _~ Story will be updated Sundays, except for the first, due to being posted the day of the "Party" (March 28) ~_

It’s a picture-perfect day.

It’s the kind of Christmas morning that should be painted on the front of the Sears catalog, an ideal: the idyllic life everyone dreams of.

The kind of Christmas BJ used to dream about in Korea.

Even if the only drifts of snow to be seen are the foot-deep ones of crumpled wrapping paper covering the living room floor, it’s still perfect. 

It’s all here, it’s all _real_. 

The glowing tree in the front window, the smell of French toast and coffee from breakfast, the fire crackling in the fireplace, with Erin and Waggles curled up in front of it, sound asleep.

BJ still isn’t sure he isn’t dreaming, isn’t sure he won’t wake up back in the Swamp on a frozen Christmas morning, but _oh,_ what a glorious dream if he is.

He hears the phone ring in the kitchen, just once, and closes his eyes, groaning.

“BJ!” Peg calls from the kitchen. “It’s for you!”

“You couldn’t tell them I was busy stuffing the turkey or something?” he calls back.

“Just pick up the damn thing, would you?” she asks, sticking her head around the door. “Don’t make them wait.”

He doesn’t catch on, doesn’t see the mischievous gleam in her eyes, doesn’t catch on that she’s smirking for a reason, too busy steeling himself for whatever emergency the hospital has come up with that couldn’t wait just one day as he picks up the phone in the living room. “I hope you know you’ve ruined my Christmas.”

There’s a brief second of silence, and then-

“Is that any way to talk to your best friend, Beej?”

“H-Hawk?” BJ stammers. “Is that really you?”

“Actually, it’s Santa,” Hawkeye says, his voice warm and fond despite the crackling static, “I’ve decided you’ve been a bad little boy this year and don’t get any presents.”

BJ’s heart leaps in his chest at the familiar cackle. “I-”

“Merry Christmas, Beej,” Hawkeye says, a little more softly, and some tenseness in BJ loosens a bit, like something he was missing has clicked back into place without him ever realizing it was gone, and he closes his eyes for a second, Hawkeye’s voice in his ear. 

“How are you- _how?”_ BJ demands, as Peg curls up next to him on the couch.

“Ask your missus,” Hawkeye says with a cackle. “She’s the brains of this operation.”

“You mean-”

“It was her idea,” Hawkeye confirms. “Turns out we make pretty good partners in crime. And she only had to threaten to spank me once.”

BJ can’t help but laugh, delighted. “I can’t believe you! How-”

“It wasn’t easy, trust me,” Hawkeye says, and then he clears his throat. “But worth every penny.”

“For me too, Hawk."

“It just means you owe me the cost of a _Nudesweek_ subscription.”

BJ laughs again, not entirely able to wrap his head around the two of them going to so much effort just for him. _“Hawk.”_

“I know,” Hawkeye says softly, and for a second, everything is as it should be. Peg and Erin are safe and here, and Hawkeye is - in a way - here too.

BJ wants to hold on to it forever, wants to freeze this moment in time, every person he loves in the same room- “How long?”

“The next three and a half minutes. I already smashed my piggy bank for five, or- or it would be longer.” And damn him, he sounds ashamed. “Sorry Beej.”

There’s a lump in BJ’s throat too. “Don’t be. Please, Hawk, it’s- it’s perfect.”

“Oh.”

BJ clears his throat, eager to change the subject. “Did you and your dad have a good Christmas?”

“Sure. We were out late last night-”

“Indulging spirits, Ebenezer?” BJ asks innocently, and Peg jabs him in the side, making him gasp.

“Actually,” Hawkeye says, a little self-righteously, “we were delivering a baby.”

“A baby?” BJ asks, sitting up a little straighter, nervous. “You mean-”

“Perfectly healthy,” Hawkeye says, a note of pride in his voice. “And our heavenly host gave us some twelve-year-old scotch for our troubles. Then it was home to bed so Santa could come.”

“And did he?” BJ asks, trying to hide his relief. There was a time where delivering a baby would’ve been too much for Hawk, but this- _God,_ it’s so good to hear. 

“Well I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Hawkeye asks. 

“Oh.” BJ’s sure he blushes.

“What about you?” Hawkeye asks, and there’s a hunger in his voice BJ recognizes, the same tone he’d use on the phone to Peg, the same longing in his tone. “How was your Christmas out in the suburbs?”

“Well the only one who delivered anything around here was Santa,” BJ says dryly. “So not quite as exciting as yours.”

“I didn’t think you believed in Santa,” Hawkeye teases.

“I better, or else I’m the one who’s gonna pay for all these gifts,” BJ says, delighting as not only Hawkeye laughs, but Peg grins beside him. “Which reminds me, thanks for Erin’s present.”

“She liked it?” Hawkeye asks, and he sounds like a boy on a first date, all nerves.

BJ glances over at the toy sailboat, still sailing on an ocean of wrapping paper, listing to one side, and grins. “She can’t wait to test it out. Which reminds me, she was asking- does it have a name?”

“How about the _Peggy Jane?”_ Hawkeye suggests, grinning. “Which reminds me, how _is_ our Peg?”

BJ pulls the phone away, and looks at Peg, who stares back, raising an eyebrow. “How are you, Peg?”

“Broke,” she says dryly. 

“Peg says she’s great,” BJ reports. “Probably because she doesn’t have to cook Christmas dinner.”

Peg swats his shoulder. “Shut up!”

“That’s good,” Hawkeye says wisely, well-versed in family lore (holding snapshots of a life he doesn’t lead like photos in an album). “Especially after Thanksgiving.”

“You’re right,” BJ says, trying valiantly to hold off Peg from hitting him further, unable to keep from laughing. “We still haven’t saved up enough to replace the stove.”

“At least it’s only the second one she’s ruined,” Hawkeye says with a cackle.

“BJ Hunnicutt, you fucking menace,” Peg hisses.

“I”ll be in charge of making dinner, but she promised me a jello salad.”

“Can you set anything on fire making one of those?”

“I’ll ask.” He pulls the receiver away again. “Peg, Hawk wants to know if it’s possible to set a fire making jello salad.”

“BJ!” She lunges for the receiver, and lands on the floor instead. 

“Don’t worry, Hawk, we’ve got a fire extinguisher, so even if she does-”

“I set _one_ fire,” Peg protests, climbing back onto the couch and into his lap. “Assholes.”

Hawkeye is still laughing on the other end, but his voice is still soft. “So you’re good?”

“So good, Hawk,” BJ tells him. “But…”

“But?”

“Well, I think Peg misses you,” he says, fudging the truth a bit.

It’s unspoken: _we both do._

“I miss her,” Hawkeye says. “I miss all of you crazy kids.”

“Does that mean you’ll come visit us soon?” BJ asks, and when the line goes silent, his heart stops for a second, terrified that they’ve been cut off, or worse, Hawkeye doesn’t want- “I- I mean, Peg wanted to know.”

“Ha,” Peg mutters beside him.

“Just Peg?” Hawkeye asks, his voice strange.

“And me. And Erin,” he says. “I think she’s tired of my bedtime stories- apparently I do the voices wrong.”

“But the voices are the best part!” Hawkeye protests. "I mean, has she heard your rendition of _Androcles and the Lion?_ Even the enemy stood up and clapped at the end of that one!"

"She has no appreciation for talent," BJ says, trying not to smile. "But she definitely misses you. We all miss you, Hawk, but- but Peg especially. You know how she worries."

“Ha!” Hawk snorts. “Right. _Peg_ worries. Remind me, Beej, _who_ stole a chopper because I broke curfew?”

“I would hardly call being lost in enemy territory breaking curfew,” BJ says dryly, “But I’m beginning to understand why your dad went grey at thirty-five.”

“It was thirty-seven,” Hawkeye informs him primly. “And it’s a family thing. I started going grey at thirty-two. Around the time I met _you,_ actually.”

“I don’t think that was my fault, if it’s a family thing.”

“You wanna stick around and find out?” Hawkeye asks.

“If it means seeing you again…” BJ trails off. “Hawk, I… I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Beej.” It’s quiet, heartfelt, and BJ hears what he isn’t saying. “I- I gotta go, but Beej?”

BJ’s heart leaps into his throat. “Y-Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas. Give my love to Peg and Erin.”

“I will,” BJ says, his eyes blurring with emotion, because five minutes isn’t enough, it was never going to be enough. “God, I- Merry Christmas, Hawkeye.”

The line goes dead, leaving BJ only to hear the echo of his heartbeat in his ears, as he sets the phone down, not even realizing his face is wet until Peg is wiping it off with her sleeve.

“You’re getting the phone all wet,” she says gently, curling into him. “Idiot.”

“You’re devious,” he says, once he can speak again. “You know that?”

“Mmm,” she says, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “But you love it.”

“I do.” He kisses her temple, wrapping an arm around her. “Thank you, Peg.”

“I figured if there was any present that would make you happy,” she says quietly. “It would be him.”

“You make me happy,” he says, surprised. _“You_ do, Peggy.”

“Well I know _that,”_ she says, rolling her eyes fondly. "But you see me every day."

"That's why it's called the _present,"_ he teases, making her groan. “I mean it, Peg. You- You make me happy.”

They sit in silence for a second, watching the lights twinkle, and then she says, “BJ, I can hear you thinking from here. What’s going on?”

“I was just thinking about how much money Hawkeye spent just to call me.”

“Well, we split the cost,” Peg reasons. “It just means you won’t be getting a birthday present this year.”

“We don’t see each other enough,” BJ says, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice.

“Barring a two year separation, you and I see each other plenty. In living color might I add,” she replies dryly.

“I meant Hawkeye.”

She sighs, sitting up. “BJ...”

“I mean- I- I knew it wasn’t gonna be easy, coming home, but I _promised_ him, Peggy. You have aunts we don’t like that we see more than we see him.”

“I know,” she says quietly. 

“I’m too used to having him next to me.” He shakes his head, frustration overwhelming him the way he’s tried to stop since coming home. “It’s not _fair,_ Peggy. Why should- why should I have to choose just _one_ of you to keep?”

She blinks, and he realizes too late what it is he’s said. “BJ…”

“I- I mean-” he stutters, because the look she’s giving him, it’s profound and painful and reminds him a little too much of Hawkeye. “God, no, no, that’s- that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asks, her eyes lit up with righteous fire. “Because I swear, BJ, if you think I’d _ever_ make you choose…”

“All I meant,” he says, his voice too small for a man who wears size thirteens, but shame has shrunk him as has the look she’s giving him, “God, Peggy, all I mean is that I want you all _here_. Where I can keep you safe. All of you.”

Her expression softens, and he reaches out to caress her cheek with a shaky hand, relieved when she doesn’t flinch. Instead her hand comes up and covers his. She looks at him, her voice firm, her gaze direct. “Then what are you going to do about it, BJ?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” she asks. “Start with that.”

He can’t resist a smile, cupping her face. “I know who I love.”

“Well,” she says softly. “That’s something.”

“It’s everything,” he reminds her.

“Well,” she says, taking a deep shaky breath, and it scares him how he’s rattled her, how his own heart is still thumping against his ribcage. “I don’t know about you, but I can think of a pretty simple solution, darling.”

“What?”

“A reunion. All of us. In one place. The people from over there, and the people right... here.” She places a hand over his heart. 

“But-” he tries.

“Darling.” It’s gentle, but firm. “I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t know you needed them.”

“I need you,” he tries.

“Oh God, don’t I know it,” she says with a shaky laugh that surprises an answering one out of him. “But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying as much as you need _me,_ and us, you need them too.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?”

They both turn, only to see Erin staring at them.

“Oh, baby, you’re up,” Peg says, exchanging a look with BJ.

“Uh huh. I’m hungry. Are we having lunch soon?”

“As soon as daddy gets off his butt and makes it, we are. But c’mere first.”

Erin hesitates, looking at them. “Am I in trouble?”

“No honey, we just want to talk to you.”

Erin shrugs, before climbing up onto the couch with them, snuggling in, her little body still warm with sleep, her eyes bright, and she gives him a look exactly like Peg’s. “What?”

“Well, we were just talking about Uncle Hawkeye,” Peg says lightly.

Erin lights up. “Uncle Hawkee?”

“Yeah. How’d you like to see him again?"

“Is he coming? When? Next Tuesday?”

“No,” Peg says, and thank God, she laughs. “No, baby, probably not next Tuesday.”

“Why?”

“Because he has work to do, and visiting us costs money,” BJ adds at last.

“But,” Peg says, “your daddy and I were just talking about going to visit with him somewhere.”

“We get to go see him? When?”

“Hopefully soon, baby. In fact, we’re thinking of visiting with a lot of daddy’s old work friends.”

Erin turns to stare at him. “The doctor-soldiers?”

BJ can’t help but smile too. “Yeah, honey, the doctor-soldiers.”

“You know,” Peg says, tapping Erin lightly on the nose. “A long time ago, when you were a baby, I took you all the way to New York to meet some of daddy’s friends.”

“Was it fun?”

“Oh, baby, it was wonderful,” Peg says softly. “And it was all daddy’s idea.”

“He was good?” Erin asks, looking between them.

Peg nods, and gives him a smile, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “The best.”

He nods back, a lump in his throat.

“So are we gonna meet up with daddy’s friends?” Erin asks. “And Uncle Hawkee?”

BJ clears his throat. “Sure baby. Now what do you say we go make some lunch?”

Erin nods, wriggling out of Peg’s arms to jump down from the couch, running into the kitchen.

“Nothing like a four-year-old full of sugar to put things in perspective,” Peg says dryly.

“Is this really something you want?” BJ asks.

“Yes,” she says quietly. 

He stands up, then leans back down to kiss her. “I love you, Peggy.”

“I love you too, BJ.”

“And-” he hesitates. “It’s good?”

She smiles. “The best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The title, "ye who are weary, come home" is from the hymn 'Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling')


	2. The Guest List

It takes BJ a few days to wrap his head around the idea of a reunion. 

It takes him a few more days to act on it. 

It’s the day before New Year’s Eve when he finally sits down with a notepad and a cup of coffee, reflecting even as he does how strange it is (even after two years) to be writing _to_ the 4077 instead of writing home _about_ them.

Peg is curled up in an armchair in the corner, a novel abandoned on her lap as she sips her own coffee, making faces every time BJ sighs in frustration. 

It takes her a whole two hours, two hours of him making very little progress, to crack.

“Does he love you or does he love you not?” she asks at last, setting her coffee cup down, and jolting him out of his train of thought. 

“What?” he asks, looking up from his doodling, feeling his cheeks get hot when her question sinks in. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been sighing like a lovesick teenager pulling petals off a daisy,” she says pointedly. “I was trying to cut to the chase.”

“It’s not that,” he says, offering a token protest when she raises an eyebrow in skepticism. “It isn’t!”

“Then what the _hell_ could it possibly be?”

“It’s…” He rubs a hand over his face, frustration welling up again. “I’m letting everybody down.”

She blinks. “Darling, if you want me to follow, you’re going to have to draw a map. Who’s everybody?”

“You. Hawk.” He sighs. “Erin. Everybody.”

"Everybody is an awful big list."

"Well it's _true."_

“Are you leaving us?”

His hand falls away as he stares at her, disbelieving. Leave? The very idea squeezes the air from his lungs.

“Exactly,” she says, seeing the look on his face. “And I take it you’re not giving up surgery to be a bank robber?”

“No..?”

“Good,” she says. “You’d look ridiculous with a stocking on your head. Much as I like you in stripes.”

He can’t help a smile, but a glance down at the empty notepad wipes it from his face. “It’s this damn reunion, Peg. It’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because nobody’s gonna come, that’s why not. It’s a stupid idea, Peg.”

“While I agree that the concept of family reunions is stupid…” she says pointedly, _"that_ credo applies to blood families. This is different.”

“It doesn't matter. They’ll never go for it!”

“They did last time,” she points out. “Even if it did take Hawkeye browbeating everyone into it.”

This stops him in his tracks. “Huh?”

“I said they _did-”_

“No,” he says, a bittersweet ache blooming under his breastbone. “The last part.”

“I _said,_ they did it. They got their families involved. Even if it did take Hawkeye browbeating them into it.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

She gives him a searching look. “He never told you, did he?”

“Never told me what?”

“The party,” she says. “The reunion. Our reunion. In New York.”

“Yeah, nobody went for it,” BJ says, remembering. “And then there was the trouble with the dates-”

“Darling, the point here is that _yes_ , nobody went for it at first, but then Hawkeye got on everyone’s case, and made them _try_.”

“Why would he do that?”

“If you don’t know by now, you’re an idiot,” she says fondly. “But I do think that means you owe him a thank you.”

He smiles. “Not just one.”

From the first day, the first handshake, the first time he thought he might actually survive Korea.

“So pay him back, and do yourself a favor in the process.”

“Huh?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you in small words?” she teases. “Have the reunion. It’s that easy.”

“It’s that hard,” he counters. “I don’t even know where to _start,_ Peg.”

“Same place as last time: the guest list.”

BJ glances at the Fort Dix picture, sitting on the mantle in a place of pride, and the photo next to it: the stateside family members in the ballroom of the Pierre hotel, grinning under a banner that reads _MASH 4077 Family Reunion_. There’s a sudden lump in his throat as he stares at the two photos, two parts of a family half a world apart- how did they ever manage?

“It wasn’t easy,” Peg says quietly, reading the look on his face, “but it was love.”

BJ nods, and then clears his throat, trying to restore some levity. “It’ll be easy to convince Hawk, but good luck getting Charles out of New England. He’ll break out in hives if he tries.”

“Oh, darling, in that respect Charles is a _lot_ like Hawkeye. He’ll leave New England if you give him the right incentive.”

“... Peg, he’s been avoiding us since we got back.”

She grins. “Maybe he’s just avoiding you. He writes me nice letters.”

“Yeah, well you never borrowed his socks without asking.”

“Either way, he’s one person. If I recall, there were more of you in the unit than just you and Charles.”

“Yeah, but- oh.” It dawns on him. “Oh!”

“Either you’re having a realization, or I need to leave you alone to smoke a cigarette,” Peg says dryly. “Let me know when you decide which.”

“Radar,” he explains. “Radar is the answer.”

“To what question, if any?”

“He can help.”

“If I recall, he wasn’t the whole unit either.”

“Maybe not,” BJ says, pushing aside the guilt, and the resentment, two years soured in his throat, a memory worn thin by time and booze and a hell of a hangover. “But he can help.”

“And we can add his name to the list.”

“I dunno…” he sighs, glancing at the notes. “I mean, his family doesn’t have a lot of money-”

“Save the shit-shovelling for the stables, Hunnicutt,” she advises, but a smile is threatening, the corners of her mouth twitching. “It won’t work on your wife. You and I both know money has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what, Freud?” he asks, levity with sharp edges.

“If you’re worried, Erin’s not gonna call him ‘Daddy’ again,” Peg says, eyes wide with mock innocence. 

“... Fine. Radar and… whoever he wants to bring.” He pauses, and reconsiders. “Unless it’s Randy.”

“Randy is… his brother?”

“Randy’s a goat.”

“Right. So he’s not invited?”

“If we bring Randy, Charles will turn himself over to the Chinese,” BJ says flippantly, and Peg, after considering this for a second, nods as though it’s completely normal.

“Alright, so Radar and family- minus Randy. The three of us.” She ticks it off on her fingers. “Hawkeye. Daniel.”

“You want Daniel to be there?” he asks.

“He’s a better dancer than you, darling.”

“How so?”

“His two left feet aren’t size thirteens.”

“Very funny. We’ve also got Charles, and whoever he talks into coming with him. _Maybe_ his sister."

“Oh.” Peg smiles dreamily. “I’d be okay with that.”

“Shameless lech,” he says affectionately. “You’re as bad as Hawkeye.”

“Life’s more fun when your mind is a little rotten,” she teases back. “And I think you’ll like Honoria, darling. She certainly… measures up.”

“Oh?”

“In fact,” she continues, her lips twitching, “I really look up to her.”

“I didn’t realize I was married to Lucille Ball,” BJ mutters, trying to hide an answering grin. “A regular comedian. Who else?”

“Sherman and Mildred. And Margaret.”

“Major Houlihan to _you,_ Peggy.” She sticks her tongue out at him, making him grin. “The Klingers?”

“If they’re not too busy nesting. The nurses?”

He nods. “The nurses… I’ll need their addresses from Margaret, she was better at um… keeping track of who was who.”

“What about Father Mulcahy?” she asks. 

“Oh.” BJ hesitates for just a second. “Um… Right.”

“Maybe he can bring _his_ sister again,” she suggests with a grin.

“What is it with you and sisters?”

“Well, his sister _is_ a sister, I’m not exactly gonna betray my vows or hers, am I?”

BJ waves the joke away, a little uneasy. “Yeah yeah. What about Sidney?”

“The psychiatrist?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you think inviting him would um. Make people a bit…” her mouth twitches. “Crazy?”

“If you’re worried…”

“I’m worried about Hawkeye,” she explains. “You heard him on the phone the other day, he’s been- he’s doing so well, especially with that new psychiatrist. And Sidney might-”

“Trigger some kind of relapse?” BJ asks. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Then why?”

“He’s still one of us,” BJ explains. “And besides, he may not even say yes.”

“Is there anyone else?”

BJ thinks for a second, and then cringes. “What about the Colonel’s wife?”

“What about her- oh.” Peg studies his face. “You mean-”

“Colonel Blake’s wife.” BJ leans back in his chair, running his fingers over the list. “I- I don’t wanna… bring up bad memories for her. Might be in poor taste.”

“Might help,” Peg says quietly. “Seeing how… loved he was.”

BJ swallows hard, remembering the flash of pain on Hawkeye’s face every time Henry came up, and remembers how the others got quiet whenever his name was mentioned. 

Remembers the snap of a tongue depressor, as final as a spun-in plane, and a plume of smoke against a clear blue sky.

“I’ll ask Hawk,” he says at last.

“There’s one more person we ought to seriously consider.”

“Not that I can think of.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No?”

He tries. “Frank, right?”

“No, darling, not Frank. The one person in this room you conspicuously haven’t mentioned once.”

“I don’t even have his address,” BJ tries.

“You can get it from Radar.”

“He might not even want to come.”

“You won’t know unless you ask.”

He sighs. “Do I have to?”

“Look, BJ.” She sits on the edge of the desk. “Are you jealous?”

“Ha,” BJ says, half-heartedly. “Of what?”

“Do you still think you have to compete with him? That there’s some kind of finish line you’re running towards?”

“Well-”

“It’s not a very fair race is all, if he doesn’t even know he’s a runner in it,” she points out. 

He touches her hand. “When did you get so smart?”

“Darling, I’ve always been smart, catch up.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“I try.” She studies his face. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll…” He sighs. “I’ll invite Trapper John. And I’ll even try to be the bigger man.”

She leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “If you start any kind of measuring contest with him, I _will_ leave you for Hawkeye, bigger man or not.”

It’s ten minutes later, the revised guest list in hand, that he writes out the invitation.

**_To the Members of the 4077:_ **

**_You are Cordially Invited to the_ **

**_FIRST STATESIDE REUNION OF THE 4077 MASH_ **

**_~_ **

**_Date and Location to be Determined_ **

**_1956_ **

**_RSVP to BJ Hunnicutt_ **

**_~ We can’t wait to see you all! ~_ **


	3. The Invitations

_**JANUARY, 1956** _

**Boston, MA**

“Chuck, I’m home!” Donna calls as she closes the front door behind her. “I grabbed a couple of tomatoes for the sauce, but they were all out of spaghetti noodles at the market, and it was getting late, and I didn’t want to make do, so I just grabbed penne, and- oh damn, is that today’s mail?”

Charles grins, leaning against the doorway of his study. “I thought I heard you blow in, my dear.”

Donna smiles back, a bag of groceries tucked in the crook of one arm. “It’s quite the blustery day out there, Chuck.”

“You do look rather windswept,” he notes. “I’m lucky you didn’t end up in Oz, judging by the looks of you. Now, what’s all this about spaghetti?”

“Oh, just that Tony was…” She frowns, staring at one of the letters she’s picked up from the hall table.

“Donna?”

“Mm?”

“Penne for your thoughts?” He unsuccessfully tries to stifle a giggle, but can’t help it. He stops when she doesn’t respond, her brow furrowed in concentration and concern. “Donna? My dear?”

“Huh?”

“What is it?” he asks, nodding towards the letter. “It seems to have captured your attention far better than I could.”

“It’s a letter from BJ, I think. Or at least,” she amends, passing it over. “Mill Valley.”

He takes it from her, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” she quips, making him grin. 

“What you’re really saying is that I appear every year of my age?”

“You age like a fine wine,” she teases. “We should all be so lucky.”

“A fine wine, and plenty of cheese, I see.” He carefully opens the letter, and frowns down at the contents, before holding the letter at arm’s length. “Damn.”

Donna sighs, shaking her head in fond exasperation as she tugs his reading glasses from his shirt pocket, unfolding them and gently placing them on his face.

They share a smile, before he looks back down at the letter. He quickly scans the contents, and then the meaning sinks in. “Good Lord!”

“What?” she asks, scrambling to set the groceries down so she can press in against his side and read it. “What’s wrong?”

Charles holds out the letter, reading aloud, “‘You are cordially invited… to the _first_ stateside reunion of the 4077 MASH.”

“A reunion?” Donna asks, grinning. “That’s all you’re fussed about?”

 _“Hunnicutt,”_ Charles groans. “This is just like him.”

“What are you groaning about?” she asks, smiling. “It ought to be fun.”

“Fun?” Charles asks, appalled. “Ha! He must be _mad_ if he thinks I’m going to go to some ridiculous party to sit around and chat about the _good old days._ If I wish to discuss our shared trauma, I’d sooner consult a psychiatrist!”

“Chuck,” she says, fixing him with a look.

“I suppose… it would be nice to see them,” he admits.

She pulls him down into a kiss, the letter crushed between them, and when she pulls away she smiles shyly at him. “I always knew you were an old softie.”

“My dear,” he says quietly in return, “I object to being called old.”

“But not a softie?”

“I see no shame in being soft, seeing as I presume it’s why you are marrying me,” he teases, leaning in to kiss her back. “I hope.”

“Among many, _many_ other reasons. You have your virtues,” she assures him.

“Yes. And one of them is you.”

She flushes pink. “When is Honoria coming?”

“Seven. Why?”

“Because we still have a birthday dinner to cook, and the dining room needs a dusting, and-”

“Come sit with me for a minute first,” he says, taking her hand. “Forget about dusting, and cooking, just… Have a cup of tea with me.”

“So does that mean we’re going?”

“Yes, I… suppose it does.”

Her grin is brighter than birthday candles. “Good.”

He kisses her hand again, brushing his fingers over the engagement ring. “Donna, I don’t profess to be a humble man, but… allow me this one small selfishness: I cannot _wait_ to see their faces when they realize what a lucky man I am.”

* * *

**Hannibal, MO**

Mildred Potter is in a musical kind of mood while she finishes her pie, a proper French silk, Sherm’s favorite. 

It’s pretty as a picture, even if most of the filling is smeared on Cory’s face (because Potters can’t resist their chocolate), because she’s rescued enough for her and Sherm to share a slice later. 

It’s the little treats, after all these years, that keeps them going, how he still brings fresh wildflowers home, and makes breakfast (even if he burns the toast), and leaves little doodles on the table when he leaves to make his house calls in the morning.

It’s all so thrilling, the joy of being together making them giddy as newlyweds.

She’s sent Cory outside to find Sherm, an afternoon storm dark and looming overhead.

Mildred is singing a particularly bawdy campaign song Sherm had taught her when they first got married, the kind that makes sailors blush when she whistles it walking down the street, as the doorbell rings. 

She wipes her hands on her apron, going to answer the door, where the mailman is waiting, the song dying on her lips. 

“G’mornin’ Missus P,” Jim says, doffing his cap, as she opens the door. “That you singin’?”

“What, the caterwauling? Must’ve been the cat,” she says. “What’ve you got for me today, Jim?”

He tugs a few letters out. “Uh. One from the electric company. A letter from your sister in Florida. A postcard from your Evy. And a nice lookin’ letter from California. Feels fancy.”

“California?” she repeats, a slither of dread down her spine. “Goodness, it’s come a long way, hasn’t it?”

“Must be important,” he says, and the dread grows.

Because all the days that letters arrived to take Sherm away started out just like this. Different mailmen, but the same letter, the same wording, the same invitation…

“Oh,” she says relieved, as she takes the mail from him, “Oh, thank heavens.”

“Good news?”

“It’s- it’s from one of Sherm’s old friends.”

“Army?”

“Something like that, yes,” she says, running her fingers over the creamy stationery. “Thanks Jim.”

“Anytime, Missus P. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

She hears laughing from around the back as she makes her way back to the kitchen, and the back door slams open, Sherm hurrying in with Cory on his shoulders, both of them red-faced and laughing.

“Sherman Potter, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack!” she scolds.

“I’ll do, I’m from good, sturdy stock after all,” he says, but sets Cory down all the same. “What’ve you got there, Mother?”

Cory giggles, the way he always does. “She’s not _your_ mama, Grampy.”

“Hush,” he says, covering the boy’s mouth and making him giggle harder. 

“It’s a letter from BJ,” she says. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Sure, I’ll just grab some-”

She smacks his hand away. “If you’ve been out mending fences, I don’t want you sticking your dirty paws all over my pie!”

“Darn,” he says, rubbing the spot where she smacked him. “Well don’t keep me in suspenders, Mildred, what does it _say?”_

She opens it, and scans it, unable to keep a smile from spreading across her face. “Oh this takes the cake!”

“What does?”

“It’s a good thing I’ve been savin’ my egg money…”

“Mildred,” he says, reaching over and plucking the letter from her hand. “Quit your teasin’.”

“It’s a reunion,” she says, taking the letter back. “BJ wants to get us all together. In the spring, he said.”

“Oh. Mighty nice.” He pauses. “You sure it’s _all_ of us he wants to see?”

“I’ve seen stable floors cleaner than your mind,” she says fondly, kissing him on the cheek. “Cory, why don’t you and Grampy wash your hands, and then we’ll get some supper.”

Cory nods, excitedly, and tugs Sherm to the sink, as Mildred tucks the letter in her apron pocket, starting up her whistling again.

* * *

**Cincinnati, OH** **.**

The envelope sits on the beat-up kitchen table in their crowded little apartment for a few days, covered in spilled food and drops of blood from Max pricking his fingers too many times mending a dress for a neighbour. 

He has the baby fast asleep in his lap when he finally remembers to open it, trying to be quiet when he tears the envelope open. 

He tugs out the sheet of paper, not recognizing the handwriting right away. It’s familiar, but he doesn’t know who it’s from.

Until he sees the Mill Valley return address, and a flood of memories hit: a pink shirt, a cheesy mustache, Chuck Taylors, big feet, and a heart bigger than California.

Max reads the invitation once, twice, before the words sink in, the letters foreign on his eyes which are used to Arabic, and now to Korean. 

Finally it sinks in, the letters rearranging into the language of friendship, forged in the crucible of a country split in two.

“Oh,” he says softly, and his son stirs against his chest. “Shhh. Sorry, Seong-jae. Go back to sleep.”

The baby gives him an accusing look, and then closes his eyes again. Max stands up, laying him in the bassinet, before tiptoeing out of the main room, and into their bedroom, where Soon-Lee is sleeping.

“Honey, honey, wake up.”

“Better be important,” she grumbles, sitting up. “What’s wrong, Max?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, flipping on the lamp, and making her blink.

She’s pretty, even when she’s scowling at him. “I was asleep. You couldn’t wait?”

“Nah, I wanted to show you something.”

“You’re dead if this isn’t important.” She takes the letter from him, and reads it, her lips moving soundlessly as she reads. “Which one was BJ?”

“Big feet? Pink shirt?” When he sees it’s not clicking, he brushes a finger over her upper lip. “Ugly mustache?”

She giggles. “Oh. Him.”

“He wants us all to get together,” Max explains. “All of us. From Korea.”

Soon-Lee turns pink. “E-Even me?”

“Of course, all our families are invited!”

“I’m not… from the unit, Max.”

“You’re family,” he says. “And that’s good enough for me, and it’s good enough for BJ.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeats. “We can go?”

“After I sleep,” she tells him, and he gets the message, taking off before she can change her mind.

He’s grinning by the time he’s back in the kitchen, rocking the baby’s cradle with his foot, his needle flashing in the light.

And he already knows what they’re gonna wear.

* * *

**Philadelphia, PA.**

Father Francis John P Mulcahy has aching fingers this morning as he sorts through his mail, fresh off a lesson in sign language with some of his students at the CYO, and before that he’d taught a couple of boys how to box.

He recognizes the handwriting right away, and tears it open, ignoring the twinge of fingers so sore even the nails ache, and reads through the letter.

And what a blessing the letter is!

> _Dear Father,_
> 
> _I hope you’ll join us this spring at the_ _first_ _(and hopefully not last) reunion of the 4077. Exact date and location to be determined, but we’d love to see you._
> 
> _And if there’s any way we can help you get here, just let us know._
> 
> _-BJ and Peg Hunnicutt._

“Oh my,” he whispers to himself, already wondering who will fill in for him for a weekend, if Bobby and Davy Cox will stop trying to bust each other’s noses if he’s away for their weekly boxing lesson, wondering how well he’ll be able to hide, to disguise, this great challenge of his, so secret.

Wondering at the same time if it is something to be disguised, to be hidden, as though it is shameful (the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but Francis is still trying to learn this new choreography).

 _But is that any reason not to go?_ he wonders.

There is little reason but his own shame, his own pride, to keep this hidden from the few people he trusted more than anyone.

His Bible is turned open to Psalms, and it’s like a sign from above, the verse his eyes land on:

> _Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!_

“Well, Lord,” Francis says. “You’ve convinced me.”

* * *

**Fort Bragg, NC**

Margaret gets home just after the milk, mail and newspaper have been delivered, carrying them all inside and dropping them on the table, taking only the mail with her upstairs and into her room, dropping it on the nightstand before falling into bed, exhausted.

It’s her third day on the night shift, and she isn’t getting any younger, not like the other nurses on her staff, the ones fresh from training, the ones without the scars of combat, who seem so much more resilient because the world hasn’t yet shown them what resilience is. 

She pulls off her uniform before crawling between the sheets, tugging her hair from its tightly-wound bun.

Two cardiac arrests, and one burst appendix.

(Her own appendectomy scar, long since faded to a pale white line, twinges at the reminder).

She opens the letters, tossing the bills back on her nightstand, sorting through them until she finds one that her exhausted brain immediately pegs as a doctor’s scrawl.

Fighting back a tired yawn, she opens it.

She reads the words once, twice, and yawns again, before setting the note down on the nightstand and tugging her quilt over her shoulder, shivering.

Her mind is spinning though, no longer thrashing against the waves of exhaustion. 

She tosses the blankets back after a few minutes, when it’s obvious she isn’t falling asleep any time soon.

While the coffee brews she reads the invitation again, and turns back to her other mail.

A letter from Donna Parker is caught in the stack, in between a few bills, making her grin as she holds it to her nose, inhaling the faint scent of the cherry blossom perfume Donna wears.

If there’s a reunion, she thinks, Charles will be there. And if Charles is there…

Donna will be too.

But not just Donna. Charles, the Colonel, BJ, Pierce… her friends, the closest thing she’s ever had to a family.

“Alright,” she says out loud, to her empty kitchen, abandoning her coffee. “Alright, I’ll go.”

And then she sees the second note, asking her to pass along the information to her nurses (her former nurses, she thinks, with a twinge of pain, their faces flashing through her mind, melding together into one).

She heads back to bed, her coffee forgotten, drowsy with happiness. 

Her drafted reply to BJ, sitting on her kitchen table, is short, only three words:

> _Count me in._

* * *

**Ottumwa, IA**

“Walter! Breakfast!”

“Yeah Ma, I’m comin’!”

“Well, get your giddy-up on down here, before these eggs get cold!”

“I said I’m comin’!” Walter hurries down the stairs, still buttoning his shirt, and into the kitchen where his mother is dishing out eggs.

“The mail is here,” Park Sung says, coming in from outside, looking as though he’d just rolled out of bed, his glasses crooked. “There is one for… Radar?”

“That’s mine!” Walter says, grabbing it from him.

“Be nice, Walter,” his mother admonishes.

“Sorry.”

She shovels fried eggs onto his plate. “You’d better hurry up and get that read, Walt, I’ve got some things for you to get in town today.”

“Yeah, Ma, just gimme the list,” he says, sighing as she smooths down his hair.

“Dontcha ever comb, Walter?”

“Yeah Ma,” he says, absentmindedly, reading the letter again. “Ooh!”

“Who’s it from?” she asks, stopping to heap bacon onto his plate. 

“Captain- Uh. Dr. Hunnicutt.”

“Oh, what’s he want?” His mother asks, looking over his shoulder. 

“He’s organizing a reunion, all the doctor personnel from the unit.”

“Oh, that sounds a treat,” she says, sitting down. “You’ll be goin’?”

“Can we afford it?”

“Where’s it gonna be?”

“Dunno, Captain- Dr. Hunnicutt doesn’t say. Just says he wants us all to be there.”

“What’s this, Walt?” his mother asks, passing over a note. “Fell clean out of the envelope. I thought Ranger might have it for his breakfast.”

Walter takes the smaller note, and reads it.

> _Radar-_
> 
> _Do you have Dr. McIntyre’s address?_
> 
> _Yours, BJ._

“Oh, it’s just. Captain BJ wanted Trapper’s address. Huh. I wonder if Hawkeye knows.”

“I’m sure he does,” she says. “Now eat your breakfast, you’re wasting away.”

Walt obligingly digs into his breakfast, and doesn’t say another word, but he’s already going over the sums in his head, trying to do the math that stubbornly refuses to be did.

He doesn’t know if they can afford it, with the new equipment, and the loans piling up, but it would be nice to see the Colonel and Hawkeye and everybody again.

“Walt!” 

“I’m goin’!”

* * *

**Boston, MA**

John is home late from the hospital, the girls already tucked into bed, having been read to by Louise, who is finishing up the supper dishes as he takes out a beer and cracks it open.

“There’s a letter for you on the table,” she says.

“Thanks Lou. And dinner?”

“On the table.”

“You’re one in a million,” he says, kissing her on the cheek, before sitting down with his beer and picking up the envelope.

“You say that to all the girls,” she says without malice.

“I only mean it with you.”

“Who’s it from?” she asks, sitting down at the table across from him.

“If you’re so curious, why didn’t ya open it?”

She sticks her nose in the air. “Wasn’t addressed to me.”

He tears it open, pulling out a letter.

> _Dear Dr. McIntyre,_
> 
> _I got your address from Radar O’Reilly, former company clerk at the 4077 MASH._
> 
> _My name is BJ Hunnicutt, and you don’t know who I am but I know_ _of_ _you. I was the doctor they sent to replace you at the 4077th (thanks for that, by the way)._
> 
> _I’m writing to you now to invite you to the first official stateside reunion of the unit, to be held in the spring. We hope to see you there._
> 
> _BJ Hunnicutt._

“Huh,” he says, sitting back, reading it over again. The note, the stranger behind it, it tugs at him, like a kid with new stitches, making old wounds ache.

“Are you gonna tell me what it says?” Louise asks, as she shoves the plate of meatloaf towards him. “Or are you just gonna sit there with your big mouth hanging open and catching flies?”

“It’s a letter from some… doctor. Hunnicutt, or so he says. Was with- with the 4077. Replaced me.”

“Was a sorry second act after you left, I’ll bet.”

“I wonder…” John says, reading it over again. “I wonder if he got a chance to know Hawk. Before he-” 

A lump rises in his throat that has nothing to do with meatloaf, and Louise takes his hand. “John-”

“I know.” He pulls away, and stands up, pacing. “I don’t wanna go.”

“Why not?”

“Too many ghosts, Lou. Don’t ya see? Henry. And- And Hawk. God, what if his dad is there? What if-”

“What if you go, and you see your old friends?”

“The only one I wanna see is- no.”

“You know you’re going to regret it if you don’t.”

“I bet they’ve all forgotten about me anyway,” he says, crumpling the letter. “And who’d wanna go relive all that shit anyway? It’s over-”

“John Francis Xavier McIntyre,” she says, cutting him off. “Go.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? It wasn’t _my_ unit.”

“No, but you’re my wife. And maybe I want ya to meet everybody.”

“Fine,” she says. “If it means you’ll go.”

“Yeah?”

“Anna can come and visit that weekend, she always loves spoiling the girls when you’re not around with your fingers in my pocketbook.”

He grins. “Betcha I can think of somewhere better for ‘em… _and_ we’ll have a hotel room.”

“That may have worked overseas,” she teases. “But it won’t work on _me,_ John McIntyre.”

“No? I bet I could work on ya.”

“Pervert,” she says, taking the letter and uncrumpling it. “Write the man back and say you’ll go.”

“Fine.”

“And then eat your meatloaf. It’s getting cold.”

He salutes, half-heartedly. “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

**Crabapple Cove, ME**

Before Hawkeye gets the letter, he gets a phone call, one night, when he’s sitting by the fire knitting a new pair of mittens for Peg (who he’s been told accidentally unravelled one and let Waggles eat the other one, in a story she’d rendered in painstaking doodles on the back of her letter).

The phone rings, once, twice, a short ring and then a long.

His father is sitting across from him, reading the paper, and he lowers it, raising an eyebrow and looking at Hawkeye over the top of his glasses. “Aren’t you gonna get that?”

“Aren’t you?” Hawk asks. “My hands are busy.”

“I’m old,” Daniel says, raising his newspaper again. “Checkmate.”

Grumbling under his breath, Hawk sets the knitting on the side table, and goes over to the phone. “Pierce’s Bar and Grill, to whom am I drinking?”

Daniel tosses the crumpled-up obit section at him. “Can it! That could be a patient.”

“That depends,” comes a warm voice on the other end of the line, and Hawk blinks. “Tell me what we’re drinking first.”

“Peg?” Hawk asks, and grins, her voice blazing through him like a good martini. “Pegs, is that really you?”

“It’s not a recording,” she assures him. “I’m live. I’ll be quick though, I’ve only got a few minutes. BJ was going to call but I thought I’d do it instead. How’d you feel about getting together?”

“Does your husband know you’re propositioning me?” Hawk asks, narrowly dodging a throw pillow. “Don’t want him feeling left out.”

“Can you stop giving the party line something to gossip about?” Daniel hisses.

“For a _reunion,_ you jackass,” she says, without a trace of venom.

“You say the sweetest little nothings, Peggy Jane,” he teases. “What kind of reunion?”

“The reunion of you and your virginity, I found it cowering under a bus station seat downtown.” She’s exasperated, but he can tell she’s grinning. “What kind of reunion do you _think,_ Hawkeye? A unit one.”

“This has BJ’s size thirteens all over it.”

“Actually, it was my size eights, thank you very much.”

“You?” he asks, delighted. “I didn’t realise you missed me that much!”

“Who said anything about _you?_ It’s your father I miss, he’s a _much_ better dancer,” she teases. “But I guess you’ll be there too.”

“You wound me.”

“I’m running out of minutes, darling, I have to go. Just say you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” he promises. “Take care, Peggy.”

“You too!”

He puts the phone down, turning back to Daniel, who has given up on the paper.

“Well?”

“Well, Dad, we’ve been invited to a party, and I don’t have a _thing_ to wear!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was only a mention, but the "Anna" that Louise mentions belongs to daylight_angel ♥
> 
> and thank you thank you _THANK YOU_ to everyone who has commented and kudos'd so far, you're all truly brilliant. this one's for you. ♥


	4. A Reunion (of Sorts)

_**APRIL, 1956** _

“Darling, is there a particular reason you feel the urge to wear a hole in the carpet?”

BJ stops his pacing. “Huh?”

She gestures to the carpet he’s been walking back and forth on for the last ten minutes, which already looks trampled. “If you’re trying to dig to China, there are easier ways.”

“I just…” He gives her a nervous look. “What’s it gonna be like, seeing him again?”

“I imagine it’ll be the way it normally is,” she says dryly, stretching out on her borrowed couch, not needing to ask who ‘him’ is. “Were you this bad when you were coming back to me?”

“Worse,” BJ says. “Why do you think I kept that mustache?”

“Why _did_ you keep the mustache?” she asks, setting her book down. “I mean I know the whole revolt thing- it worked by the way, I hated it - but you didn’t have anything to rebel against at home. Except me.”

“I kept it so we’d have something to talk about when you saw me,” he says, with a self-deprecating smile and a shrug.

“We managed alright, didn’t we?”

“Sure.”

“So what makes him any different?”

“It’s _Hawkeye,”_ he says, as if that explains everything.

“I can’t imagine it’ll be any different from the last time we saw him,” she says, trying to be reasonable. “Barring any strippers jumping out of cakes of course.”

“While that’s something Hawkeye would do…” BJ says, and at least he smiles. “I think Maine is a little cold for stripping.”

“Maybe strippers in Maine strip to their long johns?” Peg asks, grinning. 

“Down to their fishing net stockings,” BJ agrees.

“To accentuate their ah... lobster traps?”

“Mommy,” Erin asks, interrupting. “What’s a stripper?”

BJ gives her a shit-eating grin. “Busted.”

Cringing, Peg sets her book down on her lap, focusing on her daughter. “Well…”

“Good luck,” BJ mumbles with a sideways grin, but it’s better than being white-faced with nerves.

“Baby, a… a stripper is someone who takes their clothes off. Usually for money, but sometimes for fun.”

Erin tilts her head, before climbing onto the couch beside Peg. “You never pay _me_ to take my clothes off. _.”_

“Me either,” BJ jokes. “And I do it more often.”

Erin still looks quizzical. “... Doesn’t everybody take off their clothes?”

“Yes, but strippers… it’s a job, baby. Just like… like daddy and Uncle Hawkee are doctors, right? A stripper is a job. And because… well, people like to look at them.”

“Without clothes?” Erin asks, making a face. “Why?”

“Ask Daddy,” Peg advises, ducking behind her book to hide a grin. 

“Thanks a _lot_ , Pegs.”

“Why, daddy?”

“Because. People are pretty,” BJ says. “Remember when I took you to that museum and there were all the naked statues? People like looking at that... stuff.”

“Why?”

Peg starts laughing, her book falling into her lap. “Figures we’d have an inquiring mind in the house.”

“Figures,” BJ agrees, struggling to keep from grinning. “Uh, Erin, people like looking at that stuff because… being naked means...”

Peg grins, taking pity on him. “She might be a little young for the birds and the bees, darling.”

“Tell you what,” BJ says with a look of relief, sitting down beside them on the couch. “When we’re home, I’ll show you what the inside of people look like.”

Erin’s eyes go wide. “The insides? The icky stuff?”

“Yeah,” BJ says with a laugh. “The icky stuff.”

“Is Uncle Hawkee a stripper?” Erin asks after a minute.

“That depends on who’s asking,” comes a voice, dry as a martini, and the three of them look up, and Peg’s heart squeezes in her chest for a second at the sight of Hawkeye Pierce, in a familiar blue and white Hawaiian shirt, his hair darker than before, his hands shoved in his pockets. Daniel is grinning beside him, an aged-up version of his son.

“Hawk,” BJ breathes beside her, in a tone that should make her jealous, but just makes her ache with a yearning that matches his.

The two of them are frozen in place, but not Erin, who scrambles off the couch, running over and wrapping her arms around his legs. “Uncle Hawkee!”

“Hey Erin,” Hawkeye says, smoothing a hand over her hair.

Erin pulls away, and grins up at him. “Uncle Hawkee, are you a stripper?”

Hawkeye grins. “No, I’m something even better. Other people pay _me_ to take their clothes off.”

Erin looks confused.

“Can you quit messing with her?” Daniel asks, nudging his son.

“Grandpa Danny!” Erin says, noticing him for the first time, and hugging him.

Daniel hoists her up. “I swear you must be a foot taller since the last time I saw you!”

She throws her arms around his neck. “Only an inch.”

“Half an inch,” Peg corrects, walking over with BJ to meet them.

“What about me?” Daniel asks Erin. “Am I any taller?”

“No,” Erin says, pulling back to touch the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. “But you’ve got more cows feet.”

“Well, I never did win any beauty pageants,” Daniel says, grinning. “Unlike you, little beanpole. You get prettier every time I see you.”

“She looks like her mom,” BJ says, as they reach them.

Peg stands on her toes to kiss Hawkeye on the cheek. “Hey stranger.”

“Hiya Peg,” he says in return, still looking oddly nervous, like he’s expecting to be rejected. Instead, she wraps her arms around him in a hug. He feels more sturdy than the last time she saw him, and she sighs a little in relief, pressing her cheek against his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he hugs her back.

His cheeks are pink when he pulls away.

BJ is beside her, and then he’s hugging Hawkeye too, the three of them in an awkward triangle of pink faces and nervous smiles.

“Have a good flight?” BJ asks.

“Oh god,” Peg groans. “You came all the way to Chicago to find someone else to mother hen.”

“I just wanted to find someone who hasn’t heard all my yolks,” BJ quips, making them both groan.

“I say we leave him,” Peg stage-whispers to Hawk, who grins.

“I’ll slip out the back and meet you at Dearborn Street Station in an hour,” he whispers back.

“You look good, Hawk,” BJ says, brushing his thumb over the laughter lines, the way he does with Peg, mirroring what Erin did to Daniel. “Younger.” 

“The miracles of drugstore hair dye,” Hawkeye says, and Peg ruffles his hair just to check.

“Feels real to me.”

“Just have to hope it doesn’t rain,” Hawkeye says with a grin. “You like it?”

“Mmm. It’s a little disappointing actually.”

He blinks. “Oh?”

“I miss the silver,” she says quietly, running her fingers over inky black hair.

Hawkeye flushes. “I-”

“He’s vain,” Daniel says, joining them, kissing Peggy on the cheek, looking natural with Erin in his arms. “You look like a sunflower, Peg.”

“Minus the height,” she jokes. “You look good too, Doc.”

“Even better,” he says, pointing to his thinning hair. “I grew this myself.”

“Have you checked in yet?” Peg asks them. 

“Yeah. The concierge was friendly until he heard why we were checking in,” Hawkeye says rolling his eyes. “Do you ever get the feeling our war didn’t get glowing reviews?”

“Well,” BJ says, grinning, “nobody likes a show that doesn’t end, Hawk, you know that.”

“You’re right, they really didn’t stick the landing on this one,” Hawk agrees. “I gave it a one-star general myself, and I thought that was generous.”

“It was a real B movie. The only stars in it were on the generals.”

“Are they always like this?” Daniel asks Peg, who grins.

“Only when you get them going,” Peg says. “We should head upstairs, we’ve got the entire fourth floor to ourselves.”

“Is anyone else here yet?” Hawkeye asks, interested. 

“They’re supposed to get here sometime this afternoon, except a few people coming tonight,” Peg explains. “The main party is tomorrow night.” 

“Which gives us time to explore Chicago,” BJ says, rubbing his hands together. 

Hawkeye fixes him with a look. “How is it _I’m_ the one in the gaudy shirt and yet you’re the only tourist in the room?”

“C’mon boys,” Peg says, stepping between them. “You have a whole weekend to snipe.”

Hawkeye blinks. “But I didn’t bring my rifle.”

“Mine couldn’t go the distance,” BJ says, met with groans. 

“That’s it,” Peg says _sotto voce_ to Daniel. “I’m sharing a room with you this weekend.”

Daniel, to his credit, just laughs as they make their way out to the sunny street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit: 'Cows feet' originated during a conversation in the MASH Discord in 2018  
> ~  
> Thank you all for reading so far!


	5. Grant Park

“What a nice day,” Daniel says, stretching his arms above his head. “That winter was so dark, I thought I’d end up as a mushroom by the end of it.”

“Well, Hawkeye always said you were a fungi,” BJ quips, as Peg elbows him in the ribs.

“It is nice,” she agrees. “Attempts at comedy aside.”

“What are you saying about my jokes, Peg?”

“You don’t leave _mushroom_ for comedy,” she says, raising an eyebrow, making everyone groan.

“You’re horrible,” Hawk says in admiration.

“Thanks darling, I try.”

“Nice little spot you’ve found us,” Daniel says, looking around, squinting into the sun.

Grant Park is gorgeous, the trees fuzzy with new leaves, and the only wind the city has to offer is a gentle breeze.

“So Hawkeye,” Peg says, trying not to smirk. “Looking forward to seeing everyone this weekend?”

“Huh?” Hawk asks, turning sideways, Erin on his shoulders.

“I _said_ , are you looking forward to seeing everyone?”

He blinks, and then a grin splits his face. “Probably more than they wanna see me. I don’t think Igor’s forgiven me for driving a tank into the officer’s club… and I haven’t forgiven him for serving us slop- a tankless job.”

Peg rolls her eyes. “First BJ, and now _you_. I meant besides Igor.”

“I can’t _wait,”_ Hawkeye says, with all the glee of a kid let loose in a candy store. “Maybe I can talk the nurses into believing absence has made their hearts grow fonder.”

“Stripper,” BJ says good-naturedly.

“Uncle Hawkee,” Erin tugs on Hawk’s hair. “When I grow up, can _I_ be a stripper?”

“You can be anything you want,” Hawk tells her, grinning, before winking at Peg.

She only sighs, shaking her head. “Right message… and yet so wrong.”

“I can’t wait to see Max’s baby,” Hawkeye adds. “I’ve only seen pictures, but I’m sure in person he’s-"

“Smelly,” Peg cuts him off, smiling. “And crying.”

“Sounds like Saturday night in Korea.”

“Anyone else?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing old ‘full of hot Wind’-chester,” Hawk says, thoughtfully. “What’s his sister like?”

“A tall drink of water,” Peg says, grinning.

“I have expectations.”

“I have no doubt she’ll measure up,” Peg says, and starts laughing at her joke, making the boys grin.

“Uncle Hawkee,” Erin says. “Can we look at the fountain? I wanna see the ducks.”

“Sure,” Hawkeye says, distracted, as Peg and BJ fall behind. “Ducks it is.”

Peg stops and turns towards BJ, crossing her arms. “You didn’t tell him about Trapper, did you?”

_“What?”_

“Did you?”

“I… no,” BJ admits, and she groans. “The timing was never right.”

“You have to tell him!”

“I- I can’t.”

“You’re just going to spring it on him when John McIntyre walks in? ‘Surprise, here’s your old boyfriend-’”

“Whoa, whoa, hold it,” BJ says. “Boyfriend? Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

She gives him a skeptical look, raises an eyebrow.

He gives up, but shoots her an incredulous look. “… You _knew?”_

She rolls her eyes. “BJ, I’m not an idiot. Of _course_ I knew.”

“How?”

“I have eyes.”

“But-”

“That and we tend to recognize our own kind,” she teases gently, but her smile melts away as she pokes him. “So?”

“So… I’m going to tell him,” BJ says. “I will.”

They catch up to Erin, Hawkeye and Daniel at the edge of the fountain, where Erin is playing with the water, rambling to Hawkeye and Daniel, stretched out on the grass beside her.

“… and they didn’t have enough boats for people,” Erin is saying, splashing her hand in the water. “So they all got left behind in the freezing water.”

“The Titanic again, huh?” Peg asks, sitting down on the grass with them, slipping her shoes off to press her bare feet into the grass. “I was hoping we’d have moved on to something a little less morbid.”

“Like what?” BJ asks.

“Ancient Egypt maybe.”

“So you think that pulling people’s brains out through their noses is less morbid?”

“What else?” Hawkeye asks, ignoring both of them. He’s interested in what Erin’s saying- or at least, doing a very good imitation of it.

“It was cold,” Erin tells him seriously, holding her dripping hand out of the water. “It wasn’t s’posed to sink, because they had com- comp-”

“Compartments?” Hawkeye grins.

“Yeah! And they could flood a bunch and still float, but ‘cause the ice scraped the side, a lot of water got in. More than it could hold. So it sank.”

Erin is still chattering to Daniel, as Hawkeye leans in. “That’s a little morbid for a five-year-old, isn’t it?”

“We were just saying that,” Peg says.

“Better than playing with bombshell fragments,” BJ mutters back.

“It’s BJ’s fault anyway, he’s the one who let her stay up and watch _A Night to Remember_ on TV.”

"I didn't _let_ her! She kinda just crawled into my lap-"

"We all know who's really in charge," Peg says, rolling her eyes.

“Either way,” BJ says, gesturing to Erin, “an obsession was born.”

“She won’t remember _Lady and the Tramp_ or _Singin’ in the Rain_ but she remembers, in detail, how many people died when the Titanic sank.” Peg rolls her eyes fondly. “Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose.”

“True,” BJ agrees. “We can’t all get by on our looks.”

He laughs as she splashes him with fountain water, dampening his shirt, holding his hands up in defense, before splashing her back.

Hawkeye leaps valiantly to her side, splashing BJ, a short but furious splashing war ensuing that leaves them all damp with fountain water.

Erin cuts out the middleman and just jumps at Hawkeye, knocking him back onto the grass with a startled gasp.

Peg and BJ look at each other frantically, because the noise sounds _upset,_ until they realize Hawkeye is flat on his back laughing, Erin sitting on top of him.

“You alright, Hawk?” BJ asks, as Erin climbs off of him.

“Uncle Hawkee?”

“I’m healthy as a horse,” Hawkeye wheezes, still laughing. “Just maybe not the ones in the fountain. They’re fat.”

This sets him off again, and when Peg and BJ look over at the fountain, they see the horses and both start laughing too.

“You know what I could go for right now?” Hawkeye asks, sitting up, his eyes still bright and streaming. “A milkshake.”

“Well it is getting to be about lunchtime,” Peg says, consulting the beat-up watch that should’ve gone to a Hayden son, but ended up with her.

“I’m hungry,” Erin says.

“You’re always hungry,” BJ counters.

“You said I’m a growing girl,” Erin says, crossing her arms. “And I’m hungry.”

“There was a diner across from the hotel,” Daniel suggests.

“Uh huh.” BJ smiles, a little fondly. “Did you see the name, Hawk?”

Hawkeye grins, as BJ helps him to his feet, and the movement seems oddly fluid, a little ripple through time and space, giving Peg an odd, dizzy sense of déjà vu. “It was called Rosie’s.”

“Probably serves a classier customer.”

“Then we won’t get in the place,” Hawkeye says, with a grin, looking them over, all of them damp and smelling strongly of fountain water.“Milkshakes?”

“Yay!” Erin cheers.

“And maybe,” Hawkeye says, swinging her back up onto his shoulders with a grin, “You can tell me the kinda fancy stuff they served on the Titanic. Or maybe ask your Uncle Charles, he’s rich.”

BJ wraps an arm around Peg, as they follow, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Did I tell you lately you’re a genius?”

“Not lately.”

“Peg? You’re a genius.”

“I know, darling. But tell me again, I love hearing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
> I just wanted to say a quick 'thank you' to everyone who's read this, and especially to everyone who's left a kudos, or a comment. Your feedback has been so lovely, and quite the balm for a tired soul. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story x  
> \- Ally/ onekisstotakewithme ♥


	6. A Realization

“Erin, baby, Los Angeles doesn’t end in an _A,”_ BJ says, laughing.

“Yeah it does,” Erin protests, hand clutched tightly in Daniel’s as they cross the street. “S’called LA, right Uncle Hawkee?”

Hawkeye winks at BJ. “Yup. Sorry, Beej.”

“You two are impossible,” BJ accuses. “What about you, Daniel?”

Daniel shakes his head with a grin. “Leave me out of this.”

“Peg?” BJ appeals, glancing sideways at her.

She grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m inclined to rule with Erin on this one, darling.”

“Ha!” Erin cheers.

“Thanks a _lot.”_

“She’s almost as good at finding loopholes as we were,” Hawkeye says over Erin’s head to BJ who rolls his eyes. 

“No, she’s just got the judge in her back pocket.”

“Darling, I know I’m small, but even _I_ can’t fit in Erin’s back pocket.”

Hawkeye clears his throat “Where were we?”

“A… Africa!”

“Funny,” Hawkeye says, looking around. “This doesn’t look like a jungle. I don’t see any lions.”

“Or tigers,” BJ adds grinning.

“Or even bears,” Peg finishes.

“Oh my.” Daniel shakes his head, smiling. “Are the three of you always like this?”

“Only when we put our minds to it,” Peg says, trying to keep from smiling at the thought of there being a ‘three of them’ to be a part of.

“Africa means your turn, Beej.”

“Amsterdam?” BJ suggests.

“That’s an M,” Erin informs Hawkeye, tugging on his sleeve as they walk into the hotel lobby.

“Sure is.” Hawkeye grins. “Any ideas?”

Erin thinks, and then brightens. “Mill Valley!”

Hawkeye beams. “Peg, your kid is a genius.”

“She’s my kid too,” BJ protests, laughing.

“Yeah well unless you keep your brains in your feet, she got her smarts from Peggy.”

“Fine, you want smart?” BJ asks, picking Erin up and throwing her over his shoulder as she shrieks, making everyone in the lobby stare at them. Peg has to hide her giggles behind her hands. “Yucatan! You know where that is?”

Hawk grins, crossing his arms. “Mexico?”

“A+ in geography for Mr. Pierce,” Peg says, turning to Daniel. “Did you teach him that?”

“No, but he was always an inquisitive child. Though his specialty was anatomy, which is a whole different kind of geography,” Daniel says, cackling.

Peg guesses from the glares the lobby is normally full of patrons too refined for such revelry, but today there’s only BJ lugging their daughter around like a sack of potatoes past the front desk.

“Oh, Dr. Hunnicutt?” one of the concierges calls, and she watches as BJ’s face lights up at the name. “There’s a message here for you.”

“I love that,” BJ says to Peg as he sets Erin down to take the message. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Love what, daddy?”

“Dr. Hunnicutt,” he says, putting an emphasis on the _Doctor._

“Yes dear,” Peg says dryly. “I remember. I paid a lot of money for that title.”

“No, no,” he says, the message still clutched in his hand. “ _Doctor_ Hunnicutt, Pegs. Not _Captain_ , not just plain _Hunnicutt_.”

“Darling to me, you’ve never been Just Plain,” she teases, straightening his collar. “Now are you going to tell us what the message says?”

He quickly scans it, his brow furrowing, and when he looks back up, there’s an odd expression on his face. “Well, that stinks.”

“What?” Peg asks.

“Sidney can’t make it.”

“Oh,” she says, trying to hide her relief better than Hawkeye as he visibly relaxes next to her. “Why?”

“Says his son caught a stomach bug that’s been making the rounds, and figured we’d had enough of puke over in Korea.”

“Too bad,” she says, aware of how blatant a lie it is. “I was hoping to meet him.”

“I’m sure,” BJ says, his response measured.

“Who’s Sidney?” Erin asks.

“A doctor we used to know,” Hawkeye says. “A friend of ours. Only instead of people’s bodies, he fixed people’s heads.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Hawkeye gently pokes her in the forehead. “Things get a little messy in there sometimes. It’s like when you’ve got a bad wire in a house and it gets all tangled up. You need someone to come untangle it. Sid’s sort of an electrician for the brain.”

Erin nods. “Did he fix your head, Uncle Hawkee?”

“Yeah, but he did it wrong,” Hawkeye says, and Peg tenses. “He crossed all my wires. _And_ my bolts are screwed in too tight.”

BJ laughs, and Peg relaxes. “C’mon Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein was the _doctor,”_ Hawkeye reminds her, and she flicks him on the nose.

“I _know,_ Hawkeye.” She grins. “But you could argue he was the monster too.”

“Remind me never to join your book club,” he teases.

“They wouldn’t let riff raff like you in, anyway,” Peg retorts, trying to hide the glowy feeling she gets when she thinks about swapping books with Hawkeye, reading his notes in the margin, while in the background BJ laughs about their debates...

“It is too bad about Sidney,” Hawkeye says thoughtfully as they walk towards the elevators, snapping her out of the daydream, and she has to hide a blush. “Our party is shrinking.”

BJ sighs. Daniel groans.

Peg merely grins. “Hey Hawkeye, what’s a phrenologist’s favourite…” she glances at Erin, and then waggles her eyebrows. “… bedroom activity?”

“What?” Hawkeye asks.

She smirks. “Head.”

“Peggy _Jane_ ,” he says, stunned, before he starts laughing, and she flushes with pride. “You dirty bird.”

“It’s dirty _rat_ , Cagney, and besides, your accent is wrong.”

“Any actor worth his salt can do Cagney, but no one can do me,” Hawkeye says, affronted. “I’m a fantastic actor!”

“I haven’t seen you in anything.”

“I’ll have you know I was once the star in a _great_ war picture.”

“Yeah? What was it called?” Peg asks. _“The Third Manchu? The Panmunjom Story?”_

“No,” Hawkeye says, sticking his nose in the air. “I was the star of _Yankee Doodle Doctor.”_

Peg’s mouth twitches as she tries to keep a straight face, until she cracks up. “ _Yankee Doodle Doctor?_ What the _hell,_ Hawkeye?”

“Mommy,” Erin says, tugging on her skirt. “That’s a bad word.”

“I know, baby,” she says, before cracking up again. “Mommy won’t say it again.”

“You say it all the time,” she says, stern for an almost-five-year-old.

“Busted,” BJ says, grinning.

“Yeah, Erin, but I’m a grown-up,” Peg says, grinning. “That means I can get away with it.”

Erin pouts. “Fine.”

“Your mom’s a bad influence,” Hawkeye tells Erin, who nods in agreement.

 _“Yankee Doodle Doctor?”_ Peg reminds him.

He grins. “Don’t blame me, I didn’t write this stuff.”

“I _meant_ are we gonna hear the story?”

His smile flickers, then returns to full strength. “Let’s just say they didn’t invite me back for the sequel.”

“They didn’t like your acting?”

“No, no, I did the best I could, but I ruined their film. You could say my presence gave them some… exposure they didn’t like.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Peg sighs. “And that was it? You didn’t halt production altogether?”

“Huh?”

“You clearly phoned in that performance,” she scolds, grinning as his mouth drops open. “Was me, I’d have just wrecked the cameras.”

“Imagine that,” Hawkeye says, a little awed. “Peggy Jane the unpatriotic guerrilla.”

“Mommy’s not a gorilla,” Erin says, affronted on her mother’s behalf.

“No, but I’ve always thought she was a little bananas,” BJ says with a wink, making them groan.

“Trap-” Hawkeye starts, and then shakes his head. “Let’s just say a little guerrilla warfare would’ve gone over _great_ with him.”

Peg shoots a look at BJ, who doesn’t meet her eye. “You think he’d have liked me, Hawk?”

“What, Trapper?” Hawkeye asks, surprised. “You? What’s not to like?”

Peg smiles. “Thanks, I think.”

He’s distracted by Erin tugging on his hand. “Can we play Superman again? I wanna be Superman.”

“Erin,” BJ warns.

“Please?”

“Sure. Take Dad’s – uh, Grandpa Danny’s – hand, and then mine.”

Peg watches as Erin grabs onto Hawkeye's hand, giving him a look that would quite possibly melt a glacier. “Ready.”

“Ready,” Hawkeye says, nodding to Daniel, who grins back as they swing Erin. “Faster than a speeding bullet!”

“More powerful than a locomotive!” Daniel says, as they swing her again.

“Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!” Hawkeye adds. “It’s Superman!”

And they swing her into the air, properly, as Erin whoops and giggles, her feet kicking against nothing. It’s like for one brief, glorious second, she’s flying.

The elevator door opens, and they step in, Hawkeye’s hand still clutched firmly in Erin’s.

“Darling, I don’t wanna alarm you,” Peg whispers to BJ, “but I think you may have competition.”

BJ, who’s watching them, his eyes soft, blinks. “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

He wraps his arm around her waist, leaning in to rest his chin on top of her head. “Fit together nicely.”

“Mmm.”

She almost blurts out the truth right then, but instead studies Hawkeye in the reflection from the mirror on the back wall, his brow furrowed as he listens to Erin intently.

It’s almost scary, like the drop at the top of a rollercoaster, this feeling that the universe is expanding, her universe.

And it’s like that one second in the air, that brief and glorious feeling of flight.

She wants this.

She wants this, permanently, wants there to be three of them in a marriage that was supposedly only built for two, wants to build a life with him in it, no matter how dangerous, no matter how many doors they have to lock and curtains they have to close from now on.

Because Hawkeye- Hawkeye fits so easily into their family, fits so easily into her heart.

All that’s left, she thinks, glancing between her husband and Hawkeye, is to talk to BJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to sound like a broken (smashed?) record here, but seriously thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read this; thanks too to everyone who has left a comment or kudos ♥


	7. Friday Evening Arrivals

Charles is admiring the view of Chicago (what view there _is,_ anyway), when there’s a light tapping on the door that connects his room to the one next door.

Donna is waiting when he opens it, leaning against the doorframe and giving him a wicked smile. “Well, this certainly is convenient, isn’t it?”

“Almost to the point of impropriety,” he agrees.

“You know your sister won’t be pleased about it.”

“I don’t see how it’s any of her business.”

“Well, she _is_ our chaperone, darling. She's here to keep us safe from debauchery.”

“If anything, we ought to be more worried about chaperoning _her,”_ Charles says, stroking a thumb down his fiancée’s cheekbone, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Debauchery is more her style after all, and this way she’s free to enjoy it as she pleases.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Donna teases. “And then you’ll be in for it.”

“What’s the worst she can do?”

“Make us get married.”

"I do believe," he says, holding up her hand and kissing it, the diamond of the engagement ring winking in the late afternoon sun, "that I have soundly beaten her to the punch."

"Maybe. Now are you going to kiss me?"

He tugs her in, wrapping his arms around her, and then smiles. “That depends.”

“On _what?”_

“If we have any witnesses.”

“To hell with witnesses,” Donna tells him, looping her arms around his neck.

His eyes slide shut, and his lips are about to brush hers, her breath warm on his skin, when there's a knock on the door.

“Damn,” Charles mutters, letting go of her.

“Your sister has the worst timing,” Donna informs him.

“I cannot wait until she finds someone else to foist her company upon,” Charles mutters, before walking over and opening the door. “What do _you_ want?”

Honoria isn’t fazed by the rude welcome, walking in as though she owns the place. “I came to m-make sure nothing indecent was g-going on.”

“Hate to disappoint you,” Donna says cheerfully. “But it isn’t.”

“That’s really more _your_ specialty, is it not?”

Honoria looks between them. “Sadly.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother us?” Charles asks her, as she sits down in an armchair too small for her frame.

“I’m the c-chaperone, Charlie,” Honoria reminds him. “F-Feel free to pretend I’m not here.”

“Gladly,” he says politely, before turning back to Donna, “now where were we?”

Donna giggles. “You were about to kiss me.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, and they share a smile.

“Go on then,” Honoria says from her armchair. “K-Kiss her already. Or d-do I have to show you h-how?”

“Norie,” Charles mutters through clenched teeth as Donna giggles. “Get _out.”_

“No, no, it’s alright,” Donna says, stepping away, and she gives him a look like she’s suppressing a laugh. “I just realized I hadn’t unpacked yet.”

“I’ll help you,” Charles says, as she takes his hand.

“You t-two aren’t remotely subtle.”

“And you are?” Charles asks her, before closing the door, his last sight of Honoria being a rude hand gesture.

“There,” Donna says, sounding immensely pleased with herself. “I think that’s our cue to escape.”

“Clever girl,” he says proudly, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone again, smelling cherry blossoms, his heart aching in his chest.

He finally leans down to kiss her, his lips very briefly touching hers, before she surges up against him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

“Now,” he breathes when he pulls away, reaching for the doorknob. “I believe that is our cue.”

“Clever boy,” she teases back. 

He pulls the door open, the two of them giggling at the thrill of escape.

“Oh.”

They both look up, framed in a spotlight of guilt only to find-

“Margaret,” Donna whispers beside him.

Charles straightens. “Hello Margaret. You’re looking well.”

“Not too bad yourself, Charles,” Margaret says, and indeed, she looks more relaxed than he’s ever seen her, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back, and she’s out of uniform but dressed nicely, in clothes of a better quality than he’s ever seen her wear. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Wh- Oh, of course not.”

“We were giving his sister the slip,” Donna says with a grin, as Charles glares at her. “We’d give her a gown too, but we’re on a budget.”

Margaret grins, her cheeks pink as she looks between them. “Well, your secret is safe with me. When did you get here?”

Donna grabs Charles’s wrist to look at his watch, and the gesture, casual as it is, makes his heart ache. “Oh, about a half hour ago. You?”

“Ten minutes.” Margaret grimaces. “One delay after another, just like old times. I’m pretty sure I used half of my leave just getting here.”

“Have you seen any of the others?” Charles asks.

“No, you two are the first,” Margaret says, looking at Donna. “Lucky for me.”

“How about we buy you a drink?” Donna asks her. “Catch up.”

“Yes,” Margaret says, raising an eyebrow. “And you can tell me all about that pretty little ring on your finger.”

“Oh, that,” Donna says, a note of embarrassed pride in her voice, that makes Charles flush to hear it. “We wanted to surprise everyone.”

In Charles’s opinion, Margaret certainly looks surprised, her eyes fixed on the ring. But after a second, she looks between them, her mouth curling into a genuine grin. “Well, they do say the third time’s the charm.”

“She’s onto us, Donna,” he murmurs, making both of them laugh.

“Do you have a date set yet?” Margaret asks as they start walking down the hall to the elevator, looping her arm through Donna’s. “Where will it be held? Do you have a maid of honor yet?”

Charles feels like he’s become part of the furniture, but at the same time, he can’t deny he’s pleased. He follows them down the hall, still listening to Margaret’s machine gun fire questions, and thinking yet again just what a lucky man he is.

* * *

“Max,” Soon-Lee warns, leaning in as they walk into the restaurant. “People are staring.”

“They’re not used to seeing someone so fashion-forward in this town,” Max says, looking at her over Seong-jae’s head.

“They’re looking at _me,”_ she says, a little more urgently.

He gives her a soft smile. “C’mon honey, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“You take the baby then. Unless you _want_ people to think I’m your…” her brow furrows. “Your moose. That’s what they call us, right?”

“Nobody’s gonna think that,” he says, but takes Seong-jae anyway, kissing the top of his head.

“Everyone is,” she insists.

He stops, so fast that the baby gives him an annoyed look. “You wanna go back upstairs? We can eat in, honey, I’m easy.”

“No,” she says, taking a seat. “I think I have earned the right to eat at a table.”

With the arm not holding their son, he reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“When?” she asks, a small smile appearing. “You tell me a lot of things.”

He grins, remembering the smell of kerosene, and the wind against the canvas tent. “When we got hitched. I said it didn’t matter if we had food or a table to eat it at, as long as we had each other.”

And it’s true.

Max remembers the days of being able to see every rib through threadbare Mud Hens shirts, eating on cushions on the floor _when_ they ate, a plywood board covering the broken window.

It got him ready for Korea, he thinks to himself as he stares at the buffet. It wasn’t like growing up hungry in the land of plenty, but bad food was still food.

Soon-Lee too grew up without food, and it shows sometimes, the way she tears into food, like she’ll never see another meal, and for a long time, Max could count _her_ ribs through her clothes, because her family’s farm had gone from fertile soil to rocks and dust, and _then_ the war had shown up at her door like when the drunks in Toledo found the liquor store after last call.

And now, the three of them can eat, can afford food every day, and somewhere inside Max there’s still a threadbare little boy with hunger pangs, and the echoes of a malnourished little girl in Soon-Lee’s eyes, but their son is round, and soft where they had to grow up sharp.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“I’m lucky,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Luckier than loaded dice, like my old man used to say.”

“We should eat,” she tells him.

“Yeah,” he says, as she stands up. “You go ahead, honey.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll catch up,” he says. “I’m just not used to having so many choices.”

She nods. “Me either.”

He watches her walk over to the buffet line, but then gets distracted by a man walking down the buffet table, taking a bit of everything, his plate already piled high with all kinds of goodies; he looks like another kid who still feels the effects of not getting enough to eat growing up, and the plate full of food makes Klinger’s chest ache, because it reminds him of-

“Holy Toledo,” he says, as the man turns. “Radar!”

The man’s head snaps to attention at the name, which clears up any doubt about his identity.

“Klinger?” he asks, and his voice is a little deeper, the bones of his face a little sharper around the edges of his glasses. “Oh hey, Klinger!”

It’s weird, it’s like how Max thinks it would feel seeing his mother at a drag revue, or his sister doing burlesque, to see the kid… no longer a kid.

“Hiya kid,” he says warmly anyway.

“Hiya Klinger- oh wow, gee, that’s a baby!”

“Uh huh,” Max says, and grins.

“What a cute little fella. Is he your baby, Klinger?”

“Yup, this is my son,” Max tries not to puff up like a peacock with pride. “Seong-jae.”

“But… that sounds like a Korean name.”

“Probably because he’s half-Korean.”

“Half-Korean? But-.”

“Max?” Soon-Lee asks, as Radar nearly leaps out of the way. Her plate is piled as high with food as Radar’s, and she looks confused. “Is everything okay?”

“More than okay, honey. This is Radar, our old company clerk at the 4077.”

“Hello,” Soon-Lee says, giving Max a sideways glance, and he grins sheepishly back.

“Hiya ma’am.”

“Radar, this is Soon-Lee, my wife.”

“Gee, it’s- it’s a real pleasure, I mean, wow.”

Max grins. Some things clearly haven’t changed. “You here by yourself, kid?”

“Yeah, uh, my Ma and Park Sung, they had a uh- a county fair they had to get Blossom ready for.”

“Just like old times,” Max says with a grin. “You wanna eat with us?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Radar says, backing away. “I’ll uh. I’ll see you tomorrow okay Klinger? Uh. It was nice to meet you Mrs. Klinger, and baby Klinger.”

He hurries off, and Max grins after him. “Boy, now it’s starting to feel real.”

* * *

“I’m beat as hell,” John says around a yawn, holding the door open for Louise despite his arms being full of suitcases. “And starvin’ to boot.”

Louise frowns, tilting her head to check his watch. “I think we missed dinner.”

“How ‘bout you take this thirsty pack mule to the waterin’ hole?” he teases, dropping the suitcases beside the bed.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“They’ll have pretzels at the bar.” He wraps his arms around her. “C’mon pretty lady, lemme buy you a drink.”

“Does that work on all the girls?” she asks, pulling away.

“So far, but don’t you go breakin’ my record.” He grins, seeing her hesitate. “My treat, Lou.”

She gives him a look. “One drink.”

“Two drinks,” he bargains.

“One drink, and you can have a sip of mine,” she says.

He considers it. “Alright.”

The bar is right next to the elevator, a dark corner of the front lobby, Louise’s heels clicking on the marble floor.

John is itching for a drink, already gulping his down with gratitude by the time they’re cozied up in a little corner booth, and eyeing Louise’s hungrily.

She gives him a look. “Fat chance.”

“Just a sip,” he pleads. “Honey, I’ve been dyin’ for a drink all day.”

“Uh huh, and what was that, gasoline?” she asks.

“Tasted like it,” he says, glaring at the bartender’s back. “I had better swill in Korea.”

“Here, wash your mouth out with this, then,” she says, rolling her eyes, and he takes a sip before passing it back.

“What?”

“What what?” she asks.

“You’re starin’.”

“I’m not,” she says with dignity, but she still gives him a speculative look over her banana daiquiri.

He fidgets with the coaster, trying not to meet her eye, because if he does, both of them will see something they don’t want to.

How John Francis Xavier McIntyre, MD has gone from a casual ‘beer after work’ kinda guy to a slightly-less casual ‘three beers after work’ kinda guy.

When he passes out, he doesn’t have nightmares, that’s how he justifies it to himself. Booze got him through a lotta nights in Korea, so why can’t it get him through the nights where he feels like he’s woken up back in the Swamp?

And Louise has never asked; he always hopes she’ll catch him before he falls off the tightrope.

It would be easier to ignore the signs if John’s father, Roger, _hadn’t_ been an alcoholic himself.

John pushes the thoughts away. “Honey, you know the reunion’s tomorrow…”

“I figured as much,” Louise says, reaching for a pretzel.

“Can you uh- can you quiz me again?”

 _“John,”_ she protests. “Not this again. I’m trying to eat my dinner.”

“That’s a pretzel.”

“Still.”

“Listen,” he says, tugging his notes out of his pocket. “I don’t wanna go in there tomorrow feelin’ stupid. It’s not a good look on us doctors.”

She rolls her eyes, but takes them. “You’re an idiot, John McIntyre.”

“How d’ya mean?”

“You’re not gonna act all high and mighty tomorrow just because you know some silly trivia, are you?”

“Lou,” he says quietly, and she softens. “I dunno what Hawk told them about me, and- and if I wanna make nice with them tomorrow… I wanna try.”

“Fine,” she says, clearing her throat. “Okay. Where’s BJ from?”

“Frisco.”

“His wife’s name?”

John frowns. “Penny?”

“Close. Peggy.”

“Fuck.”

“Watch it,” she says, pointing the notes at him (frantically scribbled down after a long-distance phone call with Radar). “Or I’ll take you upstairs and wash your mouth out with hotel soap.”

“Keep ‘em comin’.”

“What about his daughter?”

“Erin… right? And she’s gotta be about… four or five now, if Radar’s math is right.”

“Mmm.” She gives him a smile. “There, you’ve got about five minutes of conversation right there. You’re on your own after that.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“What does BJ stand for?”

“Huh?”

“What does it stand for?” she asks, and his brain scrambles.

“Uh- Benjamin- no.” His throat constricts at the name, so he tries for a joke. “Belvedere Josephat?”

“Idiot,” she says fondly. “No, you’ve got written down ‘anything you want.’”

“That was a trick question.”

She shrugs. “Sue me. What about the Colonel?”

“Sherman Potter,” he says automatically. “Regular army, yeah? Bet Hawk…”

“Where’s he from?” Louise asks to cover the awkward silence. 

“Missouri someplace.”

“Hannibal,” she reminds him. “He’s from Hannibal. Like Mark Twain.”

“When did you get so literate?”

“While you were learning how to dissect frogs, I learned how to read,” she teases.”

“His wife’s name is Mildred,” John adds, remembering that, if only for the irony, because somewhere in this city is Mildred Feeny, an old flame. He somehow doubts _she’s_ married to the Colonel though.

“What’s he interested in?”

“Horses. Radar said he was crazy about ‘em. And uh, painting.”

“Good boy,” she teases, setting down the notes.

“Do I get another drink?” he asks, perking up.

“No, you get to come upstairs with _me_ ,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Can you live with such a disappointing reward?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers. “Let’s go.”

She tucks the notes into her pocket as they stand up, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve never known you to get stage fright before, darling.”

“I just… want ‘em to like me,” he admits quietly. “I thought that if we ever had one of these things that I’d have Hawk there as- as a cushion. He liked me.”

“I like you fine, baby,” she tells him, taking his hand. “And I know they will too. With or without Hawkeye Pierce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be brief, but once again: thank you all. ♥


	8. A Talk

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Peg looks up from her beer to find BJ smiling down at her, and raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh?”

“My husband, as a matter of fact, but you’re welcome to warm his seat until he gets here.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Though I warn you, he’s the jealous type.”

“I’ll be sure and leave if he shows up,” BJ teases back.

He sits down, sliding into the seat across from her in their little corner booth, which she’d managed to snag from a couple leaving the bar when she’d arrived.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he says.

“I asked the maid to bring in fresh peanut shells for the floor,” she replies, shoving her beer across the table. “Here.”

He takes a sip, and makes a face- his resemblance to Erin is striking, reminding Peg of the time their daughter had spitefully shoved half a lemon in her mouth because she was feeling neglected.

“What’s so funny?” BJ asks, looking at her, and it’s then that she realizes she’s smiling, fondness wrapping tendrils around her heart.

“Huh? Oh. Nothing.”

“Alright. You want something else?”

“No, darling, it’s okay.”

He nods, standing back up to walk over to the bar, leaving her to watch him. 

It leaves a lump in her throat sometimes, how beautiful he is, watching him laugh and joke around with the bartender, his whole face lit up with the simple contentment of being.

“Jesus,” she mutters, unable to keep from smiling into her beer. “I am so gone on you.”

By the time he gets back to their table, his grin is a little more sheepish as he slides a vaguely blood-coloured cocktail across the table. “I know you said you were alright, but…”

“Darling,” she says, eyeing it. “I know the fact that I go to bed at sunrise is a little suspect, but I’m not a vampire. We just have a kid.”

He grins. “It’s called a Sea Breeze. I asked what was good.”

She takes a sip, and is surprised to find it’s mostly cranberry-tasting, and tart enough that she has to blink a few times. “Wow.”

“Do you like it?” he asks, a little shyly.

“It’s good.” She takes another sip, and then says, “Speaking of the our daughter-”

“Daniel and Hawk had her tucked in and were reading to her from Winnie-the-Pooh,” BJ reports. “At least when I left.”

“Huh. When  _ I _ left she and Hawk were still trying for the world record of highest bounce on a hotel bed.”

“Don’t look at me,” BJ says with a shrug. “Daniel and Hawk are magic with kids… once you get  _ them  _ to get down off the bed.”

“Worried about competition?” she teases.

BJ’s face goes startlingly blank for a second, as if he’s come to some sort of realization. “... No.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not worried.”

“Well,” she says, the two of them staring at each other, the weight of what he’s said hanging between them. “That’s something.”

“Of course,” he says, shrugging in self-deprecation. “I haven’t got the same fatherly charm that Daniel has with his cows’ feet.”

Peg laughs. “Do you think we should tell her that’s not what they’re called?”

“And murder her dreams?” BJ laughs as Peg tosses a shelled peanut at him. “Hey!”

“You’re crazy,” she tells him fondly.

“For you, maybe,” he teases back, but it fades into a frown as he watches her. “Peg? You alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.”

“If this is about Hawkeye, he’s perfectly safe with Erin,” BJ says, and she chokes on her Sea Breeze, sending alarmingly crimson-colored flecks across the table.

“I- I know,” she wheezes when she can breathe again. “I know he is. This isn’t about that.”

“Then what is it about?” he asks, and she sees the flicker of worry in his eyes. “Because I’m starting to wonder why you lured me down here, opportunity to drive me nuts aside.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, ignoring the joke. 

“Sounds ominous.”

“… About Hawkeye.”

He blinks, and it may just be her own nerves, but he looks anxious. “What about Hawkeye?”

And fuck it, she goes for broke. “About our relationship with Hawkeye, and how it might change.”

“Our…” BJ’s face transforms into one of alarm. “Who says anything has to change?”

“Darling, sometimes things don’t get better unless they change,” she tells him. “You know that.”

“B-But… they don’t  _ need  _ to get better, do they?” he stammers. “We’re happy, aren’t we Peg?”

“Oh darling, of course we are, but this- this is a chance to be even  _ happier.”  _ She pauses, shooting a quick look around the empty bar. “Are you really going to deny that he loves you?”

BJ opens his mouth, his face pink, and then shakes his head. “No.”

This gives her pause. “No?”

“No.” BJ shakes his head. “Pegs, you- you don’t  _ know  _ what it was like that first day. The noises, the suffering, the- it was enough to break me, but it didn’t.”

“Because of Hawkeye,” she says slowly.

“It was never that you weren’t enough,” he says softly. “It was never that. But- but he gave me something to hold on to, that first day.”

“Something to hold on to?”

“Something… tangible,” he confesses, averting his gaze. “Something  _ there,  _ something real.”

“Something there when I wasn’t,” she says, her voice equally soft, and his head jerks up.

“I didn’t-”

“I  _ know,  _ BJ.”

“Nothing ever  _ happened-” _

“BJ.” She stops him, her voice soft, but the words fail her. She looks down into her drink, her ice cubes starting to melt, leaving her hands clammy with condensation, and then back at her husband. “Do you know what I was most afraid of?”

If he’s surprised by this segue, he doesn’t show it. “What?”

“I always… thought you might leave me,” she admits, her voice small. It’s gone unspoken, this little nameless fear she carries like an extra rib, fused into her very bones. “Not necessarily for another woman – or man –” she adds hastily. “But because I thought- I was scared we wouldn’t know each other anymore by the time you got home.”

“That we’d be strangers,” he says softly.

“And then you came home,” she tells him, reaching across the table and taking his hand. “And I knew you on sight.”

“Peggy,” he says, his voice soft, his eyes bright with emotion. “I was never going to leave-”

“I could live without you,” she admits very quietly, her turn to avert her gaze so that her hair falls in front of her flushed face. “I could, BJ. But the fact of the matter is that I don’t fucking want to, because I love you.”

“I don’t want you to either.”

“You love me,” she says, still speaking in her matter of fact tone to hide her embarrassment, and it’s true, she knows it deep in the marrow of her bones, knows where her fears are born, and that they are born of love for the man across the table from her. “And you love him too.”

BJ flinches. “Peg…”

“I told you I was afraid of you leaving,  _ because  _ I love you, you idiot. And… after meeting Hawkeye, writing him back and forth, getting to know him, seeing him with Erin, seeing him with  _ you _ … I realized somewhere in there that I was afraid of him leaving too.”

“Because you thought he’d take me with him?” BJ asks, deliberately not comprehending, and she can see the fear in his gaze.

“No, because…” She swallows hard. The truth has been there all along, one that each of them conceals inside their innermost selves, the truth that goes unspoken, unacknowledged, because they’re  _ happy _ . “because he’s mine too.”

BJ flushes pink, a jumble of emotions flickering across his face. And then it seems to sink in. “But- but we  _ can’t-” _

“Says who?”

“Everyone,” BJ says helplessly. “Or at least the law.”

“So?”

“We’re happy the way we are, and Hawk doesn’t like commitment-”

“Oh  _ bullshit,  _ BJ, he’s not afraid of commitment, he’s afraid of being left again!”

“What?”

Peg sighs, softening. “We’re really not that different, me and him. He’s afraid of losing people, BJ. He’s afraid of losing  _ you,  _ losing  _ us.” _

“He’s- he’s a  _ man,  _ Peg.”

“Is that really what bothers you?” she asks sharply. 

“No!”

“Then-”

“It’s the  _ risk,  _ Peggy, don’t you understand? We’d be asking him to risk his entire life, his career, his reputation… for  _ us.” _

“I- I know,” she says.

“You don’t,” he tells her, and then gives her a look of utter heartbreak. “I spent two years- two years over there, where being like- like that was enough to ruin you. Even the  _ whisper  _ of a rumour was enough to open an investigation.”

“BJ-”

“They rewarded me for saving a man,” he admits, and the loathing on his face breaks her heart, “but they’d have hated me if they knew I loved one.”

She squeezes his hand, struggling to form words around the lump in her throat. “D-Don't you think Hawkeye knows the risks?”

“Of course,” BJ says with a shrug, before he thinks it over. “... of course he does.”

“He does,” she agrees. 

“Which means… he should get a say in it too,” BJ says quietly.

“Right in one,” she says, relieved. “BJ, we could go on forever like this, I know we could. And we’d be happy.”

“Then why?”

“Because if nothing else, he deserves to know that we love him as much as he loves us,” she says. “That he’s as much Hunnicutt as you and I. That he’s a member of this family-”

“Whether he wants to be or not,” BJ says, trying not to grin, but it slowly fades. “Peggy…”

“I know.” The magnitude of what they’re doing isn’t lost on her, nor is the gravity. “BJ, you and I and Hawkeye, we all know the risks. But...”

“But?”

“But this is  _ good.  _ And our... our  _ family  _ is worth that risk.”

“I know.” He squeezes her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you back,” she says, squeezing his hand in return. “And we’re going to be happy, okay? Together.”

He takes a deep breath, and gives her a hesitant smile. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: BJ's line about "they’d have hated me if they knew I loved one" was inspired by the gravestone of Leonard Matlovich, a gay Vietnam veteran, which read: _"they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one"_  
>  ~  
> we are now more than halfway through this little story.  
> and thank you again to every one of you for all the love ♥


	9. Breakfast

Hawkeye wakes up suddenly on Saturday morning to bright sunshine streaming in the curtains of their hotel room, his heart pounding as though someone had shouted in his ear.

For a second, he’s disoriented, unsure of where he is, but then he hears Daniel humming a Cole Porter song in the bathroom under the sound of running water (he’d never thought he’d miss the sound of water gurgling through the pipes, but it’s a lullaby of civilization, and he has to close his eyes and savor it).

And it clicks.

Chicago. The reunion.

According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s just after nine-thirty.

“About time you got up, lazy bones,” Daniel says, sticking his head around the bathroom door, his face covered in lather. “If we don’t go down soon, we’ll miss breakfast.”

“What is the point of coming here for a vacation if they stop serving breakfast at the crack of dawn?” Hawkeye asks, burying his head under his pillow.

“Because we’re not here for a vacation,” Daniel calls back.

Hawkeye’s eyes snap back open, cold dread sour in his stomach, and the reminder leaves his chest momentarily tight.

Will they all be watching him today for signs of madness?

He tries to breathe, tries to remember the advice of Dr. Bright, the psychiatrist he’s been seeing in Bremen.

_ “Hold on to what you know,”  _ she’d advised him at the end of their most recent session.  _ “That’ll keep you grounded.” _

And after a minute or two of practiced breathing, the knots around his lungs seem to loosen, and he takes a shaky breath, before sitting up.

“Well,” Daniel says, wiping off his face with a towel as he walks back in, “Shall we go test out the French toast in the breakfast buffet?”

Hawkeye nods, rubbing a hand over his own face as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll ask Peg and Beej if they want to come.”

“Not in that fashion-forward outfit you won’t,” Daniel says, eyeing Hawk’s t-shirt and boxer shorts.

“You’re right, they may not be able to resist throwing themselves at me,” Hawk agrees.

“Get dressed, Casanova.” Daniel tosses a pair of pants at him, going back to his Cole Porter as he combs his hair.

Hawkeye tugs on the pants, before walking over to the door connecting their room to the Hunnicutts’ and knocking. “Knock knock!”

He’s already got a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, one that slips away, his mouth falling open as the door swings open.

Because Peggy answers the door, and all he can do is stare.

She’s yawning, her eyes soft and brown in the light, arms crossed over a faded maroon Stanford sweater, her legs bare under a pair of what look like BJ’s boxer shorts, rumpled and casual, and half-asleep in a way he’s never seen. And it’s just dawning on him that he’d like to see this every day.

Hawkeye’s mouth has gone dry, every witty word gone in the face of Peg.

“Did you want something?” she asks.

“Y-You. Uh,” he amends. “Breakfast. With you?”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, though he notices that she ignores his slip. “Breakfast?”

Hawkeye nods, grateful he doesn’t have to speak.

“We’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she says. “Or however long it takes for you to put your eyeballs back into place.”

“We’ll save you a table,” he manages, when he can find the words, and she nods, still smiling at him.

“Smooth,” Daniel says as Hawkeye closes the door again, leaning against it in a moment of weakness.

“Like Maine roads in spring,” Hawkeye admits, still leaning against the door.

“Well don’t worry,” Daniel says, patting him on the back, laughing as he does. “You have all day to make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

“Why is that not comforting?” Hawkeye asks, following him out the door.

* * *

Peg looks both mischievous and triumphant when she closes the door behind her, the same look she'd given him the last time she put hot chilies in the brownies he'd just taken an unwary bite of.

"I could've answered," he tells her, leaning back against their bed. "Saved you showing off your jammies."

She grins wider, if possibly, leaning casually against the door. "I wanted to prove a theory."

"And what theory was that?"

"If Hawk is attracted to me," she says, primly, walking over and sitting down next to him. "And judging by the way he was drooling when I opened the door, I'd say he is."

"A keen mind," BJ says, smiling back.

"With a body to match."

"How is it you never became a doctor, with a brain like yours?"

"Easy," she says breezily. "I failed a prerequisite."

He raises an eyebrow. "You've never failed a thing in your life. Besides home ec."

"Sure I did. I failed the biggest prerequisite for medicine: I don't have a big enough ego."

Startled, BJ laughs.

"What's so funny?" Erin asks, sticking her head around the bathroom door, a toothbrush in her mouth.

"Nothing, baby," BJ answers for her. "Mommy just told a funny joke."

"You should share with everybody," Erin says. "Or it's not funny."

"I'll tell you later baby."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Fine."

"Speaking of keen minds," Peg says, nodding towards the door.

BJ only grins. "She's just at that age where 'why' is a complete sentence."

"Better get dressed," she says, climbing back off the bed. "Since Daniel and Hawkeye are saving a table for us downstairs."

"Peg..." BJ says thoughtfully, and she stops, turning to look at him.

"What?"

"Do you think we're ready for today?"

"I think so," she says, cautiously. "And either way, we'll have an answer by the end of it."

"Done!" Erin says, opening the door.

"Good," Peg says, brushing a hand over her hair as she walks past. "Daddy's gonna do your hair while I get dressed, okay, baby?"

Erin nods.

BJ meets her eyes over Erin's head, and nods, giving her a smile, before turning his attention to their daughter. "Alright, honey, what do you want today? A crew cut?"

Peg closes the door, clearly trying not to laugh, as Erin protests.

Yes, BJ thinks as he starts to brush Erin’s hair. They’re ready.

* * *

The restaurant is crowded with guests, the noise and the smell of breakfast overwhelming, but Peg's eyes seek out Hawkeye at once.

He and Daniel are laughing over something at the table they've saved, and even though she knows Hawk would save them seats, it still warms her heart to see the empty chairs just for them.

"BJ," she says, nudging him.

"Ahem." The maitre'd blocks their way into the restaurant, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have a reservation?"

"No need," BJ says, and Peg turns at the pride in his voice. "We're with him."

He nods towards Hawkeye, and the maitre'd scowls, but steps aside all the same.

"Was that your surgeon voice?" Peg asks in a teasing whisper as they walk over. "Very sexy, darling."

"Peg!"

"I'm sitting next to Uncle Hawkee!" Erin declares, running over.

"Morning Erin," Hawkeye says, and Peg isn't sure, but it's a distinct possibility he's avoiding her gaze.

"All this coffee just for you, Hawk?" BJ asks, glancing at the three cups in front of him with a raised eyebrow. "We'll be peeling you off the ceiling."

Erin giggles at the thought, and Hawkeye grins, beams really, looking proud.

"It's not all for me. Here. Coffee with a splash of cream." He pushes one mug towards BJ, and then the other towards Peg. "Cream and sugar."

Peg takes a sip of the coffee, the smell rich in her nose. "Oh."

"Good?" Hawkeye asks, a little nervously.

"It's perfect," she tells him.

"How did everyone sleep?" Daniel asks.

"Fine," Peg says, and sips her coffee again. "Except Erin snores."

"No I don't!"

"How do you know?" Hawk asks, ruffling her hair. "You'd be asleep."

"I just know." Erin looks dangerously on the verge of a pout, and Hawk, wisely, changes the subject.

"Shall we brave the breakfast buffet, then?"

"Real eggs," BJ says blissfully, exchanging a look with Hawkeye.

Daniel and Peg exchange one of their own.

"I'm anxious to see how the French toast measures up," Daniel says. "Shall we?"

"Hawk and I can take Erin first," BJ suggests. "While you save the table. And then we’ll switch."

"This sounds suspiciously like a ploy to get all the best food," Peg says, raising an eyebrow.

BJ winks at her. "I  _ am _ a growing boy."

"C'mon Erin," Hawk says. "Let's go before your mom decides to throw her coffee at daddy."

Erin follows them over to the buffet line, chattering away, leaving Daniel and Peg alone together, for what might be the first time since the first reunion in New York.

"How's BJ holding up?" Daniel asks after a minute, looking sideways. "Y’know, with the reunion and all."

"He seems to be handling it well," Peg says. "I think he’ll be happy to see everyone. What about Hawkeye?"

Daniel smiles wryly. "You know Ben, he operates in extremes. He's either pleased, or he's terrified out of his mind. Or both."

"It's probably a bit of a shock for him," she says defensively. "Seeing everyone again."

"Shock for all of them, I'd imagine. Though... I  _ can't _ imagine," Daniel shakes his head. "I was never a soldier."

"Neither were they."

He blinks at the sharpness in her tone, but then nods. "I can't imagine what it's like. The fear, the tension... the knowledge that your only family in the thick of it is the one over there. We can't know."

"You're right," she says softly. "We can't."

"Ben will be fine," he says after a minute, reassuringly. "He's been in stickier spots, and he's always come out the other side."

Peg watches Hawkeye piling food onto Erin's plate, and smiles to herself while she watches him. Yes, she thinks, he always does.

“And besides,” Daniel says, giving her a knowing look. “I can think of a few people I trust to keep him steady.”

Peg has to hide her surprise in her cup of coffee. She’s always thought Daniel’s seen more than he lets on, but here is proof positive; she isn’t sure, in the light of his mild reaction, if she’s more terrified or elated.

It sticks with her as she gets her own breakfast, her plate piled high with food.

“Look at that,” Daniel says with a low whistle as she sits down again. “You could feed an army with that.”

Hawkeye and BJ exchange a look, before chorusing “Not our army!”

“Har har,” she says. “We’ve got a long day ahead, and I don’t want anybody getting faint.”

“If I do I’ll just put my head between your knees,” Hawkeye says cheerfully, as BJ chokes on his coffee, spraying brown flecks all over the tablecloth.

“Benjamin Franklin Pierce!” Peg says, as Hawk reaches around Erin to thump BJ on the back.

“You good, Beej?”

“N-Never do that-“ BJ’s voice cracks into another coughing fit. “Again!”

“What, mommy, what?”

“Nothing, baby.” Peg’s cheeks heat up, and Hawk winks at her, making her flush harder. “Uncle Hawkee just thinks he’s funny.”

“Only when I look in the mirror,” he says, before picking up a piece of sausage with his fork, and sniffing it.

“Aw, Hawk, not this again,” BJ protests.

“You wanna know what this smells like?” Hawk asks, grinning.

“No.”

As they bicker, Peg watches Erin, sitting between them, silently contemplating her plate full of food. And then-

“Hawkeye,” Peg mutters.

“Not now, Peg, I’m trying to describe the titillating bouquet-”

_ “Hawkeye.” _

He looks, and then looks down at Erin, when Peg nods in her direction, only to catch Erin in the act of lifting her fork full of fried potatoes to her nose and sniffing it.

“Oh,” Hawkeye says, turning pink.

“Wanna smell it?” Erin asks, holding the fork towards him.

“I’d love to.” Hawkeye leans in and sniffs it.

Daniel is shaking his head. “I wish I had a camera.”

“Mine is upstairs,” Peg says mournfully. “They’re like bloodhounds.”

“Woof,” Hawkeye says cheerfully.

“Smell it, daddy,” Erin says.

BJ leans in as though he’s about to smell her food, and then bites down. “Yum. Thanks baby.”

“Daddy!” Erin protests, as Hawkeye cackles. “Those were mine.”

“And they were yummy,” BJ tells her, before kissing the top of her head. “Now stop sniffing your breakfast and eat your French toast.”

Erin frowns. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t like French toast.”

“What do you mean you don’t like it?” BJ asks. “You love French toast.”

Erin blinks at him innocently. “I like Uncle Hawkee’s.”

Hawkeye grins. “You’re right, Erin, nothing compares. You want to wash it down with my coffee?”

“Sure!” Erin’s eyes light up, as Hawkeye hands her the mug.

She takes a sip, and then screws up her face. “Yuck!”

Peg and BJ laugh, as Hawk grins. “Guess it’s an acquired taste.”

“It’s ‘quired yuck,” Erin tells him, making them laugh harder.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice from the end of the table. “Is this the table for Abbot and Costello’s party?”

Peg whips around, only to see Mildred and Sherman Potter standing at the head of the table, both of them beaming.

“Actually,” Hawkeye says, gesturing to Peg. “You’ll notice we added a third stooge to the act. This is Larry.”

“I thought I was Curly,” she says lazily, and he grins.

“Colonel- I mean Sherman- I. Sir,” BJ says, looking as though he doesn’t know whether to hug Sherman, salute him, or cry. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Don’t act so skittish, Hunnicutt,” Sherm says with a grin. “I’m not gonna lasso you.”

“And you must be Mildred,” Hawkeye says. “I’ve heard so much about you from my dad.”

Mildred grins, and to Peggy’s astonishment, she winks at Daniel who winks back.

“Mildred here does an excellent tango,” he says breezily. “But I’m sure you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Colonel?”

Sherm grins. “Unfortunately, you’re exactly like your son.”

“Not really,” Daniel shrugs. “I’m actually suave.”

“And you must be Peg,” Sherm says, looking at her, an oddly pleased look on his face. “The little lady.”

Peg grins conspiratorially. “Before you ask, I’m about twelve hands high. Before heels.”

Sherm blinks, and then starts laughing.

“Join us for breakfast, won’t you, Col – Sherman?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to bother you,” Mildred says. “You sound like you’re having too much fun for a couple of old coots.”

“Nonsense,” Daniel cuts in. “I need a couple of old coots to even out the numbers.”

“Sure, you can take my chair, Colonel, and I’ll just find another one.”

“Well, if you insist,” Sherm says, not altogether reluctantly as he takes BJ’s seat.

“Who are you?” Erin asks, looking up from her plate.

Sherm blinks, and then grins. “Well hello there, little lady. You must be Erin. I’ve been hearing about you since you were tiny.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Sherm,” he tells her. “I’m an old friend of your dad’s.”

She squints up at him. “You were doctor-soldiers together.”

“That’s right.”

“But…” Her head tilts to the side. “You’re old.”

“Erin!” BJ hisses, horrified, but Sherm just laughs.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Erin stares at him a second longer, and smiles, before going back to her food.

BJ sighs, burying his head in his hands, as Hawk laughs.

“She’s right you know.”

“Pierce, she’s still cute enough to get away with it, but don’t  _ you  _ start.”

“Here,” Mildred says, passing over what looks like homemade penny candy. “That’s for you, Erin.”

Erin’s eyes go wide, and she takes it. “Thanks!”

Once Erin is preoccupied with the candy, Mildred turns to the rest of them. “I got these recipes from Sherm’s mother. Guaranteed to keep young mouths busy until they’re old enough to be reasoned with.” She winks. “Worked on Sherm as recently as last week.”

“Don’t you start, Mother,” Sherm warns.

Mildred winks at Peg, who grins.

“When did you get here, Colonel?”

“Last night.” Sherm raises an eyebrow. “It was a mighty fine idea, getting us all in one place, Hunnicutt. It’s good to see you’ve still got a good head on your shoulders.”

“Well…” BJ shoots a look at Peg. “It was actually Peggy’s idea.”

“Oh?”

“Go on then, Peg,” Mildred says with a smile. “Tell us.”

* * *

“You know,” Hawkeye says. “This isn’t that bad, all things considered.”

BJ shoots him a look. “It’s the nicest ballroom in the city and all you can say is it isn’t that bad?”

The ballroom is fairly nice, a printed banner above announcing the first annual reunion of the MASH 4077.

Peg is consulting some list or another, a pencil forgotten behind one ear as she reads, mouthing the words soundlessly as she goes.

“I think that’s everything,” she announces to no one in particular. “I just need to talk to the chef about the catering.”

Hawkeye grins. “Who’s catering us?”

“The hotel,” Peg answers, before looking around. “Has anyone seen-“

“Left ear,” BJ suggests, and she tugs her pencil out with a long-suffering look. “Why don’t you take Erin with you? I’m sure she’d love to try the desserts ahead of time.”

“And get her all sugared up before her nap this afternoon?” Peg asks skeptically.

BJ raises his eyebrows, and nods towards Hawkeye, and then at Erin, who is coloring peacefully at one of the tables, tongue stuck out in concentration.

Peg understands. “Erin, baby, you want to come talk to a real chef with me?”

“Realer than any she’ll meet in this ballroom,” Hawkeye mutters. “Igor and his salmonella piccata.”

“Who are Sam and Ella?” Erin asks, as Peg rolls her eyes. “Are they coming tonight?”

“That’s why we’re going to talk to the chef, baby,” Peg says with a grin, taking her hand. “Maybe we’ll get something yummy out of it.”

They walk off, leaving BJ and Hawkeye alone.

“So,” Hawkeye says. “Now that you’ve got me alone…”

“Hawkeye,” BJ says softly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Hawkeye goes white, and he leans back against the table. “O-Oh?”

“I invited Trapper,” he says without preamble.

A bit of color floods back into Hawkeye’s face. “You- You  _ what?” _

“I invited Trapper,” he says again. “And he accepted, and he’s here.”

“And you didn’t think that was important to mention? You just. Ambush me with it?”

“It wasn’t one of my better plans.” He looks down at his shoes.

“Beej.”

He looks back up.

“What were you so afraid of? That I’d- I’d run right over and pick up where I left off?”

“Maybe.”

Hawk laughs, short and bittersweet. “I’ll let bygones be bygones, Beej, but… he never came back.”

There’s an unspoken ‘ _ not like you’ _ in there, and BJ’s guilt magnifies. “So…”

“We’ll have a few drinks, a few laughs, kiss and make up… and then he’ll go back to Boston and I’ll go home with dad, and that’ll be that.”

“You don’t want… more?” BJ asks, a little hesitantly.

Hawkeye smiles. “I want to be his friend, Beej. He’s married, you know.”

“I’d heard.”

The conversation is turning precarious rapidly- how does BJ proceed when all he wants is to tell Hawkeye that  _ he’s  _ married, and it’s never once changed how he feels.

“And besides,” Hawkeye says. “It’s just… what would’ve happened anyway, with the war ending.”

BJ gives him a look, and is about to ask if Hawk had similarly depressing theories about  _ their _ friendship post-war, when Peg and Erin walk back in.

“Finger sandwiches,” she says by way of a greeting.

“Not hand and cheddar?” Hawkeye asks innocently, and BJ whaps his shoulder, grateful for the interruption.

“Anything else need doing?”

“That’s the last of it,” Peg says.

“Wrong,” Hawkeye says. “We need carnations for our buttonholes.”

“Who’s getting married?” Peg asks, mystified.

“It’s so Charles won’t ignore the wrong person,” Hawkeye explains.

Peg shrugs. “There’s a flower shop down the street, I’m sure they have carnations.”

He grins. “Any requests?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be back, with carnations.”

“Bye Uncle Hawkee!” Erin says, grabbing him around his legs in a hug. “I love you so many!”

BJ grins, as Hawkeye turns bright pink.

And then he leans down and kisses the top of Erin’s head. “I love you so many, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
> Just wanted to apologize quickly for the late update, and thank you all again for reading, leaving kudos or comments, and just being fantastic x  
> Ally


	10. Saturday Morning

Donna is still sound asleep when Charles opens the door, not even stirring in her sleep as he closes it behind him with a muted _click._

He walks over, his steps hushed by the carpet, and sits down on the edge of her bed, watching her.

The morning sun that peeks in around the edge of the heavy curtains, and in the middle where they don’t quite meet, paints her face in bronze and shadow, her cheeks pink, her curls glowing in the faint sunlight. She’s stretched out on her belly, the lines around her eyes softened by sleep, her breathing soft enough that it barely disturbs the errant curl falling across her cheek.

There’s a lump in his throat as he stares at her, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst, aching tenderness swelling within him as he watches her.

“My god,” he asks of the still morning air “what did I ever do to deserve you?”

There is no answer but the silence, glorious and undisturbed. It settles over him like peace, enticing him to simply lie down beside her for all his days.

Feeling absurdly like a fairy tale prince, he leans down to brush his lips against her temple, in benediction, or in gratitude, he isn’t sure.

When he pulls away, her eyes are half open, her mouth curled into a lazy smile. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he whispers back, as though determined not to break the spell.

She rolls onto her side, taking the quilt with her, revealing bare legs and a faded Harvard pullover she’d pilfered from him ages ago, her eyebrows raised in wordless invitation.

“You’re going to give me a reputation,” he grumbles, flushing pink at the offer, however innocent- debauchery is not his style, and with him, it isn’t hers either.

“Good,” she whispers. “Then no other girl will touch you.”

He scoffs at this, his resolve wavering. “As if any woman could compare to _you.”_

“Me?” She’s pink. “Flatterer.”

“I chose you,” he tells her, giving in at last and sliding in beside her. He takes her hand, and presses a very gentle kiss to her engagement ring. “Above all, I will always choose you.”

“Oh.”

“May I-” He clears his throat, hoping she’ll say yes. “May I hold you?”

When she answers, she sounds touched that he’s asked. “Sure, Chuck.”

It’s so easy, the way the nickname spills from her lips, as easy as the trust in him she carries, turning her back to him and nestling back in, so that her hips are lined up with his, her back flush against his chest.

She fits so neatly with him, he thinks, his heart still aching as he buries his nose in her hair, wrapping his arm around her waist. The smell of cherry blossoms is rich in his nose. “I love you.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, content, wiggling a little in obvious delight. “I love you.”

They lie in silence for a few minutes, Charles’s eyes closed as he feels the rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat strong and sure and in perfect harmony with his, her breathing soft.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says after a second, almost tentatively.

“A dangerous occupation, I’m told,” he says, and she laughs. “About what, Donna?”

“April,” she tells him. “It’s a good time for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Last I checked, you’re the one I’m marrying,” she says, sounding vaguely amused instead of annoyed.

“Yes, but that’s-.” He clears his throat, because he’d been about to say ‘the bride’s decision’. “A spring wedding?”

“You don’t approve?” she asks, now sounding nervous.

“My mother,” he says, “thinks that spring weddings are vulgar.”

“Who cares what your mother thinks?” Donna asks, a little bravely, but with her usual dismissiveness of his ‘breed’ that makes his heart sing. She doesn’t give a damn who he is or what she’s marrying into, and it makes him love her more. “You’re not marrying _her.”_

“No,” he says dryly, and it’s his turn to laugh. “No, fond as I am of the classics, I do not believe I am Oedipal enough for that.”

There’s a breath of a laugh. “Chuck, what do you really think?”

“To hell with what my mother thinks,” he tells her. “To hell with what everyone thinks but you.”

“I’m not asking about everyone,” she reminds him gently. “I’m asking your opinion.”

For the second, there’s a rise of panic in his belly, because nobody has cared what he thinks, and then the answer comes easily. “Spring is my favorite season.”

She turns back over to look at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m an open book, my dear, you only need ask,” he tells her. “I love you.”

“I love _you,”_ she says fondly, and he loves her, good _God,_ he loves her, the way tiny freckles dot her nose, and the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles- “You’re staring.”

“Art was made to be appreciated,” he tells her, leaning in and kissing her. He tangles his fingers in her hair as he does, her mouth warm on his, melting into him with a soft sigh. Kissing sometimes has reason to feel like an exchange of currency, what is owed and given.

Kissing Donna, however, is a luxury.

“Suppose your sister comes in?” Donna asks, pulling away, leaving him breathless and dizzy at the interruption, still caught up in her.

“To hell with my sister,” he tells her firmly, leaning back in.

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. “Charlie! I know you’re in t-there!”

“Hush,” he whispers to Donna, her breath warm on his lips. “Perhaps if we ignore her, she’ll go away.”

“Charlie!”

“He’s not here, Honoria!” Donna calls back, trying to keep the laughter from her voice as Charles tickles at her ribs. “Maybe he’s downstairs already!”

There's a pause, and then a deeply aggravated sigh. "F-Fine. Margaret and I are g-going to breakfast without you then."

 _Margaret?_ Charles mouths, alarmed, and Donna can't help giggling again.

"Enjoy!"

"Oh god," Charles sighs, once she's gone, his ribs aching from holding in his laughter. "I think I hurt myself."

“Oh don’t do _that,”_ Donna says in mock dismay. “And you, a doctor.”

He opens his mouth to answer when there’s a rather large growl from the direction of his midsection. “Oh.”

“You ought to feed that thing,” Donna says, looking at him. “Before it escapes.”

“I would but I believe you just cut off our only route to breakfast,” he says, nodding towards the door.

“Room service,” she says decisively. And then she hesitates. “Chuck, are you looking forward to today?”

“Of course,” he answers, avoiding the question. “I’ve always wanted to see the Art Institute, even if I’m not especially fond of Picasso-”

She gives him a light, teasing kick. “The _reunion,_ Chuck.”

“Ah, yes. That.” He pauses, and then smiles. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“To it?” Donna asks knowingly, “Or for the chance to show me off?”

“Both,” he says decisively, making her laugh, but it stops when he leans down to kiss her again. “Definitely both."

* * *

Soon-Lee is singing in Korean when Max steps out of the bathroom, Seong-jae giggling as she blows raspberries against his bare belly, the baby wiggling in delight.

“Morning honey,” Max says, climbing onto the bed beside her. “You want me to take him?”

“No,” she says, making faces at her son. “Not yet.”

“Don’t wanna give him up just yet?” Max asks.

“He needs to eat first.”

“Alright. Here, I got him.”

She eyes him, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “You’re not feeding him.”

“You’re right,” he says, and she does laugh. “My cupboards are bare. Just lemme hold him while you set the table, alright?”

“Alright,” she says, imitating him as she passes Seong-jae over.

The baby, still giggling, grabs Max’s nose, making him laugh too. “Don’t worry baby, mom’s just getting your table ready.”

The baby is still giggling, not understanding a word, and Max can’t take it another second, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around his son and never let go, so desperately in love that he almost can’t stand it.

But Soon-Lee is taking him away, the edge of her nightgown tugged down as she holds him to her breast.

“He’s getting so big,” Max says softly, staring at the fuzzy edges of his son’s skull, cupped in Soon-Lee’s delicate hand. “Everyone’s gonna be thrilled.”

“By a baby?” Soon-Lee asks.

“Trust me, they’ll be going gaga over him,” Max advises, and she smiles. “God, I can’t wait to see everyone.”

“It’ll be nice to see them,” Soon-Lee murmurs.

“And Donna will be there,” Max reminds her.

At this, her smile becomes wider, more genuine. “Do you think she’ll be happy to see the baby?”

“She’ll be thrilled. I mean, c’mon honey, we wouldn’t have him without her.”

Soon-Lee raises an eyebrow, but she’s distracted by Seong-jae, who makes a contented little noise, letting go of her. “You want him back?”

“Thanks.” Max hoists the baby up, patting his son’s tiny back. “You really wanna say thanks to Donna, huh?”

“We owe her a lot,” Soon-Lee says.

“Go get ready,” Max tells her, softly, leaning in to kiss her. “Seong-jae and I can keep each other company for a little bit.”

Seong-jae belches softly as if in agreement and snuggles into his father’s shoulder.

As Soon-Lee gets up, Max resumes the song she’d been singing, an old Korean lullaby, his voice a little less sure as he sings, the past and the present coming together in one moment.

* * *

Francis is sitting up in bed, a towel slung around his neck, a mug of tea clutched in his hands.

His hands are steady, and he can _feel_ his heartbeat echoing in his chest. His Bible is in his lap, but he isn’t paying attention to the psalms this morning.

“Lord,” he says quietly, though he doesn’t hear it- his hearing has returned to an extent, but it is still quite poor, even with hearing aids. “Grant me the courage to face the day.”

The city shines outside his window, bright sunlight pouring into the room like a benediction, and Francis’s once-unshakable faith is strengthened again.

He continues, feeling a little less unsteady, his words from the heart. “Grant me the courage to stand in front of them as I am, as- as you designed me to be.”

God’s design, the design that had given him empathy and compassion and reckless love of others.

“Grant me the peace of knowing that they’re alright,” he adds, their faces appearing in his mind’s eye, his colleagues, his _friends._ “Grant them your healing power.”

He closes his eyes for a second, and settles into some inner peace.

“Be with us, Lord,” he whispers into stillness, his heart pounding in his ears. “Amen.”

* * *

Breakfast turns out to be quite the affair when dining with a Winchester, as Margaret learns.

Honoria is laughing over a pot of coffee, and _God,_ she’s breathtaking.

“Y-You’re staring,” she remarks, and raises an eyebrow. “Did I s-say something?”

“No, just… can’t picture you being related to Charles is all.”

Honoria’s grin only widens. “It’s b-because I’m prettier.”

“Definitely. But are you as much of a terror as your brother?” Margaret asks. “I could tell you stories that would curl your eyebrows.”

Honoria giggles. “M-Margaret, I’ve got thirty-four years of s-stories about my b-brother.”

“Tell me one then,” Margaret says, leaning forward- she can’t help it, it’s Honoria’s magnetism. She’d be a knockout in a boardroom if she’d been a man, or dynamite as an army commander.

“N-Not how this works,” Honoria says, with a grin. “Y-You tell one, I tell one.”

Margaret grins. “You drive a hard bargain, but alright. Did Charles ever tell you how he was one of the worst pranksters in the bunch?”

“No…”

“Well. Our Chuckie had a tendency to play both sides,” Margaret says, an evil grin blossoming across Honoria’s face as she talks. “Like the time he was playing me against BJ and Pierce. He got the boys to hide a pilot’s dummy in my closet… talked me into stealing their robes while they showered and then hide in their tent with all the nurses…”

She shivers briefly at the memory of Little Mac, but smiles.

“So w-what happened? D-Don’t leave a girl in s-suspense!” Honoria protests.

Margaret laughs. “Well eventually we all got wise to what Charles was doing so we ganged up on him. I walked into the swamp and told BJ that I’d confessed to his wife about an affair he and I had been having.”

“A n-nonexistent affair.”

“Right. And BJ was so overcome with emotion, he grabbed me. And oh _boy,_ your brother spilled the beans. He was so scared of what he’d done, he came clean.”

Honoria starts laughing too, the two of them laughing into their coffee mugs.

“T-That’s nothing,” Honoria says after a minute, wiping her eyes. “W-When he was at Harvard, he once had a r-roommate that m-made him so mad… t-that one weekend, while he w-was away, Charles p-put all his furniture on the r-roof.”

Margaret grins, trying to imagine a younger Charles. “Really?”

Honoria laughs. “A-And it rained that weekend.”

“Oh dear.” Margaret grins, but eyes Honoria slyly. “And what about you? Are you as sneaky as your brother?”

“Worse. B-But nobody expects guile from m-me.” Honoria gives her an innocent wide-eyed look. “T-That and I’ve g-got a reputation for being b-blunt.”

“Oh?”

“I b-box.” Honoria grins, and it’s not hard (or unappealing) to imagine her beat-up and bloody, grinning through blood-stained teeth. “T-taught myself.”

“Really?” Margaret’s amazed.

Honoria nods. “W-Wanted a way to b-be clever.”

“Well.” Margaret flushes. “You certainly are that.”

“S-So,” Honoria says, pouring Margaret another cup of coffee without being asked- it’s proprietary, staking a claim, and Margaret ought to feel affronted, but those _damnable eyes._ “W-What about you? Any s-skeletons in your closet?”

“Well, where d’you wanna start?” Margaret asks.

Honoria lights up.

* * *

Walter feels as though he’s tumbled through the looking glass, the kind that Park Sung read about to him in Alice in Wonderland- as if by stepping off the plane here in an unfamiliar city, he’s tripped into the past.

He’s used to being up before the sun, not wallowing in a luxurious bed and feeling guilty about work left undone.

His fingers are itching to do something, to be out milking cows or slopping pigs, but that is what Walter does.

And right now, this weekend, he’s not Walter anymore, but Radar.

He’s here in a big lonely hotel room a long way from Ottumwa, missing his Ma and Park Sung more than he ever thought he could- and it’ll be swell seeing everybody, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re all different now.

The whole day stretches out in front of him, devoid of the hard labor and clockwork of farm life.

He’s picking up the phone to call home, when he remembers just how much it’ll cost to assuage his loneliness, and sets it back in its cradle.

Staring out the window at the city of Chicago, he gets an idea.

He’ll walk around, commit the town to memory, all the interesting things he sees, and tell them all to Park Sung, give them as a gift, an adventure.

It’ll keep him from feeling guilty about all the work he’s missing, all the money he’s spending to be here.

And for just a second, he wraps his arms around his pillow and pretends it’s his teddy bear, and Walter and Radar are one- but just for a second.

* * *

When Bigelow stumbles out of her tiny room, in her tiny rundown apartment, she finds Kellye standing over the stove, humming, and Able sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of coffee.

“I’m making pancakes,” Kellye says, sounding oddly cheerful, which makes Bigelow grin- she’s never known Kellye to be a morning person.

“That’s oddly domestic of you,” she says, unable to hide her surprise as she sits down beside Able, who yawns into her coffee.

“She was clattering with pots and pans at the crack of dawn,” she mutters to Bigelow. “The only reason I didn’t kill her was she brought us coffee.”

“Kona coffee?” Bigelow asks politely.

“A hostess gift,” Kellye says, her back to them. “Stop smirking, you’d have done the same thing.”

“We would, if you’d ever thought of inviting us to Hawaii,” Bigelow teases, trying to ignore the flush creeping up her neck at the thought of Kellye, and the beach, and the palm trees waving over their heads.

“… Peggy?”

She realizes Able is watching her. “What?”

“Kellye asked if you wanted some coffee.”

“Sure, but I’ll get it.” She stands back up, walking over to the ancient coffeepot, and frowns. “How the hell did you get this thing working?”

“Just needed a softer touch,” Kellye teases, her eyes glittering.

“Thanks for the hostess gift,” Bigelow tells her, pressing a hand to Kellye’s wrist, making her eyes flash with something darker.

“Well they- they were out of myrrh,” Kellye stammers, their eyes locked.

“Kellye, the pancakes!” Able yelps, and Kellye pulls away as the fragrant smoke of burning pancake batter winds between them.

“Shit,” Kellye swears, and turns back. “Stop distracting me!”

“Sorry,” Bigelow says guiltily, glancing over at Able, who’s perusing the Chicago Sun-Times.

“I should shower,” Able says after a minute, setting down her mostly-empty coffee cup.

“Down the hall,” Bigelow answers automatically. “Towels are in the linen closet beside the bathroom.”

“Thanks.”

“Breakfast in ten minutes, Judy!” Kellye tells her.

“Thanks!” she calls, making her way down the hall.

It feels like Kellye and Bigelow are both holding their breath, waiting for the click of the lock in the bathroom door, and then Bigelow is practically leaping across the kitchen, unable to stand it a second long, kissing Kellye hungrily.

“Peg- Peggy, the pancakes,” Kellye says, in between kisses, but she doesn’t stop either.

“I’m not hungry,” she lies, kissing across Kellye’s cheeks, the tip of her nose, her mouth-

“Peggy,” Kellye says, pulling away with a laugh.

“Can I come visit you in Hawaii?” The words slip out before she can stop them- or before she wants to.

Kellye blinks in surprise. “You want to?”

“I want everything.” The heat in her voice must be evident, because Kellye blushes pink, and glances down at the pancakes.

And then, just as Bigelow has given up all hope, Kellye leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, and whispers. “Hold that thought, okay?”

Bigelow nearly melts on the spot. “O-Okay.”

Kellye gives her a wink, and turns back to their breakfast.

* * *

John is sitting in an armchair by the window as the light breaks over the city, every nerve alive with anxiety, and not for the first time today, he’s craving a drink.

He’s not ready, not without the comfortable numbing power of bad alcohol, doesn’t know how he survived coming home without it.

“John?”

“Lou,” he says, turning in relief as she walks over.

“Are you alright?” she asks, brushing a hand over his curls, before pressing a hand to his forehead. “You’re all clammy.”

“’M fine.”

“You were having nightmares, weren’t you?” she asks.

Unable to speak, he nods, the terror and pain of his dreams rising out of him like secondhand smoke, making him tremble.

“What were they about?” she asks, leaning on the chair’s arm. “Hawkeye again?”

He nods. “They never even told me how. And I didn’t think-”

“Darling, there was nothing you could have done.”

“I coulda been there. I coulda… I coulda said goodbye,” he says. “A real goodbye.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she says, the way she always does, comfortable as the booze, but instead of numbing him, it only rips the skin away, leaving his nerves raw. And then she’s wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and he turns, pressing his face to her belly, aching. “John.”

“What?” His words are muffled in her nightgown.

“Look at me.” He pulls away to look up at her, his beautiful Lou, so untouched by all the blood and violence, the purity of fresh snow. “It wasn’t your fault.”

And anger rears up in his chest, suffocating him, because she is clean of the blood, the way he’ll never be, the way Hawkeye never was-

And then the anger breaks, loosening its grip on him.

“Come back to bed, darling,” she tells him, stroking over his hair. “We’ve got a long day ahead, and I don’t want you fainting.”

“Can we call the girls?” he asks.

She checks the bedside clock. “It’s barely eight on a Saturday, mister. Do you want to incite a riot?”

“Oh say that again,” he teases as he stands up, nipping at her ear. “I love it when ya talk fancy.”

“Shut up,” she tells him. “And come back to bed.”

“I don’t think I’m ready, Lou,” he says softly, and she rolls her eyes, almost fondly.

“Of course you are, darling. You just never think you are.”

“When did you get so smart?”

“Catch up, John,” she teases, drawing him back to bed. “I’ve always been smart.”

He steps willingly into her arms, knowing yet again, that she’ll catch him- the way she always has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you, for the continued love and support you've given this little story ♥  
> Five chapters left!  
> Ally x


	11. Before the Reunion

Hawkeye is waiting for them in the lobby, bouncing on his toes nervously, and clutching a sunflower, looking for all the world like a teenage boy on his first date.

“What the hell is he up to?” Peg mutters to BJ, who glances between Hawkeye, the sunflower and her, and raises an eyebrow.

“Courting, by the looks of it.”

“Hawkeye?” she asks, surprised.  _ “Courting?” _

“Mommy, what’s courting?” Erin asks, tugging on her hand.

Peg cringes. “It’s uh…”

“When somebody does something nice for someone they love,” BJ says.

“Like what?”

“Like… like when mommy has a long day so daddy rubs her feet for her.”

Erin makes a face. “But feet are stinky.”

“That’s why it’s something nice,” Peg tells her.

Erin sticks her tongue out. “Love is stinky.”

“Your face will freeze that way,” BJ says absentmindedly.

Erin stops at once. “It will?”

“No,” Hawkeye says, catching the tail end of the conversation as he walks over. “That’s just a myth made up by boring parents. Thought you were better than that, Beej.”

BJ laughs, as Erin proceeds to stick her tongue out again.

“Hi, Hawkeye,” Peg says quietly, as BJ and Erin start sticking their tongues out at each other. “What’s up?”

Hawkeye gives her a shy smile, and holds out his sunflower. “This is for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says, taking it from him, feeling oddly lightheaded at how soft this gesture is. “How did you know?”

“BJ,” Hawkeye says, turning pink. “Mentioned it in Korea.”

“Did he really? And you remembered it?”

The blush deepens. “It was you.”

She stands on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a darling.”

“Hawk is there a reason you called us down here?” BJ asks, feigning annoyance, though Peg and Hawkeye know him well enough to see the amusement glittering in his eyes. “Or was it just to try and seduce my wife?”

“They’re just flowers, Beej,” Hawk says, faking gravity. “I’d have gotten you some too, but I don’t know your favourite.”

“Violets, but don’t change the subject.”

“Well, it’s sort of to do with flowers,” Hawkeye explains, though he glances sideways at BJ. “… Violets?”

_ “Hawkeye.” _

“There was an ice cream parlour next door,” Hawkeye explains. “And I figured what better way to enjoy a spring afternoon, than with an ice cream cone?”

“We’ll spoil our dinner!” BJ says, horrified, no longer acting.

Erin is dancing maniacally around his feet, chanting “Ice cream! Ice cream!”

“Darling, dinner is fu-” Peg clears her throat, the curse almost slipping out. “Dinner is finger sandwiches. It’s already spoiled.”

“Pre-spoiled,” Hawkeye says with a nod, the two of them sharing a grin.

“Did I mention I hate when you two gang up on me?” BJ grumbles.

Peg kisses him on the cheek. “Get used to it,” she whispers, and he flushes pink.

Hawkeye gives them a curious look, but turns to Erin. “How’d you like a horseback ride?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, mount your noble steed, fair lady!” Hawkeye lifts her onto his shoulders.

Erin pokes the side of his face. “I wanna be a knight.”

Hawkeye shrugs, and then imitates a horse. “Off to rescue Princess Pralines from the evil ice king!”

They take off into the sunlight, leaving BJ and Peg to follow.

“I was worried about him,” Peg says, cradling her sunflower. “But…”

“But?” BJ asks.

“He and Erin get along like a house on fire,” she points out with a grin. “Not to mention they’re fucking dangerous together.”

BJ shakes his head. “I’m not too sure.”

“Why not?”

“Erin’s a kid, sure, but she’s not…” He struggles for composure, his eyes shadowed despite the brightness of the day. “She’s not a baby, Peg. She’s not… dangerous.”

“Well of course she’s not dangerous,” Peg protests, not understanding. “She’s a little girl.”

“No, Peg.” BJ stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to look at her. “She’s not like that baby on the bus.”

And then Peg, her blood turning to ice in her veins, understands. “Jesus,” she whispers.

“And it may not matter now,” BJ says quietly. “But… say a couple of years down the line, we want to have another baby…”

Peg is stunned into fierceness. “I’m not going to split our family, BJ.”

“I’m not either.” BJ takes a deep breath.

“He’s gotten so much better, darling,” Peg says, putting a hand on his arm. “You’ve seen him.”

“I know.”

“Besides, the matter of having more children is a conversation for three people,” she points out as they start walking again. “Not just two.”

“Speaking of conversations,” BJ says, seeing Erin’s golden hair catching the sunlight as she and Hawk make their way down the sidewalk in front of them. “At some point we have to decide what to do about Erin.”

“We’re trading her to the Yankees,” Peg says flippantly, though she understands. “We’ll have to talk to her.”

“She’s just a little kid. They don’t have the greatest reputation for secret-keeping,” BJ says seriously.

“She’s smart for her age.”

“Yeah, but all it takes is telling one friend that she saw Daddy kissing Uncle Hawkee, and we could lose her.”

“Then we’ll talk to her, BJ. I don’t want our life to be built on- on secrets or lies.”

BJ chuckles wryly, and after a second, she joins in.

“Alright,” she amends. “More than the  _ necessary  _ secrets and lies.”

“I didn’t want to lie to her either,” BJ admits.

“Again…” she says, squeezing his hand, the sunflower clutched in the other. “That’s a conversation for later.”

“Do you think it’ll be tonight?” BJ asks, as they arrive at the ice cream parlor, watching Erin drip ice cream on Hawkeye’s nose from her spot on his shoulders while he laughs.

“I think so,” Peg says.

“Do you want it to be?” he asks, before holding the door open for her, the sweet smell of ice cream and sugar wafting out.

“Do you?” she asks, twisting to look up at him.

“You know I do.”

“Are you two coming in or not?” Hawkeye asks. “You’re letting all the sweet air out.”

“Me too,” she murmurs.

And hand in hand, they join him and Erin.

* * *

Mildred has always loved watching Sherm work.

The way his eyes squint at whatever he’s studying, how he goes slightly cross-eyed with effort, the way his fingers twitch as though he longs to hold a paintbrush.

It’s endearing, and wonderful, and  _ hers. _

“What do you think of the fountain, Mother?” he asks, picking up his sketchpad. “Would it look nice in Evy’s living room?”

“You should be asking Evy, not me,” Mildred says, leaning back on her elbows, closing her eyes against the brilliant spring sunshine. “Maybe she can put it in the baby’s room.”

“The what?” he asks, turning so fast he drops his pencil.

Mildred grins. “Are you surprised?”

“Evy’s pregnant?” he asks, thunderstruck.

Mildred nods. “I was going to tell you tonight, but couldn’t keep it in another second.”

“Another baby…” he says, shaking his head in awe. “Great thunderin’ herds!”

She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “It still counts as a horse, you know.”

“Does it?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Needs a few months on an army diet,” Sherm says, his mouth twitching as he stares at the fountain. “Slim it right down.”

“Are you pleased, Sherm?” she asks softly.

He smiles into his sketchpad. “Couldn’t be more tickled if I had feathers in my skivvies.”

As he goes back to his sketches, he starts whistling, a lewd campaign song from WWII that he’d promised never to sing around the grandkids, but one that always signals he’s in a good mood.

“Puts my plans on hold, though,” he says after a minute.

“No houseboat this year?” she asks innocently, and he shoots her an annoyed look.

“Mother, stop trying to get my goat. It doesn’t have scuba gear.”

She laughs. “What plans, then?”

“I was thinking of getting myself a horse,” he explains quietly, flipping back through the sketchpad until he finds it- an old sketch of Sophie. “I miss my old girl.”

“Does anyone we know breed horses?”

“Bert said he might be able to get me a filly,” Sherm explains, and then grins. “I like a houseful of spirited women.”

“Will you settle for a granddaughter?” she asks, and he laughs.

“If she’s anything like you and Evy… I’ll have my hands full.”

She smiles into her glass of lemonade, running her fingers over the checked picnic blanket. “This is nice, Sherm.”

“Which part?”

“Gadding about like bright young things.”

“We’re not ready for the crypt just yet,” he says absentmindedly, but he’s still beaming to himself. “Another baby! Hot dog!”

“She can keep little Seong-jae company,” Mildred adds, as Sherm takes up his whistling again. “I wonder if Erin Hunnicutt will be an only child much longer.”

“Whatever you’re scheming, Mother, keep me out of it,” comes from behind Sherm’s sketchbook. “I’m too old for matchmaking.”

“Says  _ you,”  _ she teases. “Don’t go ignoring what’s in front of your eyes just because you don’t like it, Sherman Potter.”

He lowers the pad. “I’ve been around, Mildred, trust me. I know what’s what.”

“And?”

“As with everything, time will tell.”

* * *

BJ emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and shaved, into a warzone.

“Overalls,” Erin insists, her arms crossed.

Peg, glowering down at her, is the spitting image of her daughter both in looks and stubbornness. “Young lady, you have a perfectly suitable dress-”

“Overalls! Or-.” Erin’s eyes light up, shooting a sly look at BJ. “I won’t go!”

“Erin Josephine,” BJ says lightly, stepping in between them. “Stop devilling your mother.”

“I won’t!” Erin tells him angrily. “I wanna wear my overalls!”

“Baby,” BJ says, kneeling in front of her. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

Erin does, grumpily.

“You too, Peg,” he says, and hears a frustrated exhale above him. “Again.”

Another snort.

_ “You’re  _ not dressed up either, daddy,” Erin mumbles, not looking at him.

BJ refrains from using the popular ‘yes but I’m an adult’ argument that he always hated as a kid, and instead says, “Erin, look at me, please.”

She does, blue eyes fixed on his face.

“Come sit down with Mommy, okay?”

“Okay.”

Peg, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, helps Erin up, stroking a hand over her hair. “What don’t you like about the dress, baby?”

Erin frowns. “I can’t run around in it. Grandma Emily said so. She said girls don’t  _ play  _ in dresses.”

“Well,” Peg says, and BJ can see she’s fighting back a smile. “The good news, baby, is that Grandma Emily is wrong. Girls play in dresses all the time.”

Erin looks at her incredulously. “Really?”

“Of course.” Peg strokes a hand over her hair. “I played in dresses  _ and  _ overalls.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I got mad, baby, will you forgive me?”

Erin nods, and shoots her mother a worried look. “Will you get mad if I play in my dress?”

“No.” Peg touches her cheek, gently. “That would be silly. In fact, I’ll be mad if you don’t play, got it?”

Erin giggles. “Got it.”

“Now, how about I braid your hair for you?” Peg asks, smoothing her hand over Erin’s hair.

“I seem to recall,” BJ says, sitting down beside her as he finishes buttoning his Hawaiian shirt, “that  _ you  _ preferred overalls too. Still do, in fact.”

“Yeah, that’s because my mother got in my head,” Peg says. “Pass me Erin’s brush, would you?”

He complies.

Peg starts humming, a little absentmindedly and off-key, as she brushes Erin’s hair.

“Did you really wear overalls a lot?”

“Oh yeah, because I was helping your grandpa around the farm, and climbing trees, and getting into all sorts of trouble,” Peg explains, as Erin giggles. “Hold still baby, or you’ll look like the bride of Frankenstein.”

“The bride of Frankenstein’s  _ monster,” _ BJ mutters. “And you, a classics expert.”

“Frankenstein  _ was  _ a monster, BJ. Alright little miss, daddy is gonna help you into your dress while I get ready.” Peg pats her on the shoulder.

She tugs her dress from the closet, and walks into the bathroom, leaving BJ to help Erin into her own dress.

“Are you excited for tonight, baby?”

Erin nods, and gives him a gap-toothed grin. It sends a pang through his heart, thinking how she’s already almost five, when he swears just yesterday she could wrap her whole hand around his finger. “Yeah, daddy. Are you?”

“Yes,” he tells her. “These are all my old friends- the doctor-soldiers. They made me happy when you guys couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…” he hesitates. “Do you remember when I was gone?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Well… they were my family then, the way you guys are.”

“And are we all family now?”

He smiles. “Yeah, baby. We are.”

“But we’re not all related.”

“Not all families have to be,” Peg pipes up from the doorway, and BJ’s heart stutters in his chest.

She’s a vision in blue and white, wisps of golden hair catching the late afternoon sunlight coming through the window where they’ve escaped her own braid, and her feet are bare.

“Wow,” BJ breathes.

“Not too shabby?” she asks, twirling around.

“You’re perfect,” he tells her honestly. “You’re going to outshine everyone else in that ballroom and catch every eye.”

“As long as I catch the ones I want,” she says, walking over and taking his hand.

He raises her palm to his mouth and kisses it, before closing her fingers over it to keep it safe. “You will.”

* * *

“Chuck,” Donna says, tearing her eyes away from the Picasso paintings to check her watch. “It’s getting late.”

He gives her a pleading look. “A few more, Donna, please?”

“Darling, I don’t want to have to explain to the others that we were late because we were admiring…” She eyes the paintings of naked women. “Well, let’s just say I prefer my women a bit less…”

“Square?” he inquires, his mouth twitching. “A few more, my dear, we’re in no danger of being late.”

She stands on her toes to kiss him. “Alright, a few more. I’ll be wandering.”

She wanders away from the Picassos, down a different gallery, and ends up in front of  _ Nighthawks. _

“A bit gloomy, isn’t it?” asks the man next to her, also staring at the painting.

“How do you mean?” she asks, staring at it.

“It’s rather…” She doesn’t look at him, but he shrugs. “There’s no door.”

“So?” she asks, turning to look at him properly, and for a second all that registers are the glasses. “Oh, it’s you!”

Steve Newsome frowns at her. “Eh?”

“Dr. Newsome,” she says, and smiles. “We knew each other in Tokyo.”

He lights up. “Donna!”

She wraps her arms around him for just a second. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m from here.”

“The art gallery?”

“Chicago,” he explains. “Are you here with anyone?”

“Just…” She cringes guiltily. “My fiancé. Who I think you know actually.”

“I do?” She’s startled him.

“Just- um- wait here,” she tells him. “I have to go find him, I sort of wandered off, and- and found you.”

She hurries away, back through the various galleries, and then stops.

Charles is standing in front of a painting –  _ A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte _ – and staring at it rather intently, as though he’s lost in it.

She walks up beside him, trying to figure out what he’s staring at, and then it hits her- he’s looking at the child in the painting.

“Chuck?” she asks softly, putting a hand on his arm.

He breaks from his reverie, and smiles at her. “My dear.”

“Are you alright?” she asks, looking between him and the painting.

He gives her a soft, rather sad smile, and takes one final glance at the child in the painting, as if to strengthen his resolve. “Right as rain, now that you’re here.”

Impulsively, she stands on her toes to press an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. “We’re happy, aren’t we?”

The sadness fades from his smile, as he turns his back on the painting. “Deliriously so. Is it time to go?”

“Yes, but first there’s something I’d like to show you. Well,” she amends. “More of a someone.”

“I’d say how mysterious, but you do have a tendency to find things,” he says, amused.

“Ta-da!” she says, when they finally get back to Steve Newsome. “I don’t know if you remember, but this is-.”

“Dr. Al Capone State,” Steve says, giving Charles a wry smile.

“Ah… yes.” Charles cringes, but shakes his hand all the same. “You seem… much recovered, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“A nice stint in the funny farm and I’m a new man. My sense of humor hasn’t gotten any better, though.”

“I’m glad to hear it, as I’m sure my colleagues would be.”

“Would you want to see them?”

Steve and Charles both give her incredulous looks.

“I’m pretty sure I wore my welcome out during my last visit,” Steve says politely. “And anyhow, aren’t you all scattered now that the war’s over?”

“We’re having a reunion tonight,” she says. “The 4077 that is. You should come.”

“I shouldn’t intrude-”

“Just say yes and save her the trouble of convincing you,” Charles says, and gives her another soft smile. “She can be very persuasive, my fiancée.”

This quiet public claiming makes Donna pink in the face, as she loops an arm through Charles’s, and another through Steve’s. “Let’s go, or else we’ll be late.”

“I do suppose,” Charles says reluctantly, “that it would be rather rude to be late to a party at which one is a guest of honor.”

* * *

Hawkeye is buttoning his Hawaiian shirt, talking absentmindedly as he steps out of the bathroom. “And it’s getting late, we’d better get down there soon-”

“Ben.”

Daniel is sitting on the end of the bed, giving Hawkeye a look of pure affection. But there’s apprehension that flickers in his gaze too as he watches him.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“C’mere, I wanna show you something.”

Hawkeye sits down beside him, on the end of the bed, and waits.

“I was looking for a suitcase for the weekend,” Daniel explains, “and well, you know I don’t throw anything away, so I… I found... well, a whole crate of things. Including this.”

He holds out a battered cardboard folio, and Hawkeye swallows his own sudden anxiety at what the folio contains.

But he gently unravels the string, and opens it.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“It was your mother’s,” Daniel explains, the sketches held between them, bright and vibrant despite only being pencil drawings. “The crate was stuffed full of her art, but I figured I’d pick out a few of the best ones, and show them to Sherm while I was here, him being an artist and all. But I… I figured I’d show them to you first.”

“Is this me?” Hawkeye asks, holding up one of a sleeping baby.

Daniel nods, a fond smile on his face. “You fascinated her, you know. As an artist. Especially, as she put it, your lumpy head that was damned impossible to draw.”

Hawkeye laughs, but it’s torn in his throat by the ache of sudden loss. “I- I barely remember her.”

“She’d have been so proud of you, Ben,” he says softly, as they flip through the sketches. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We ran into each other in New York- literally.” Daniel laughs, shaking his head. “I helped Thalia off the ground, her swearing her head off in French the whole time… I was charmed.”

“You never told me that!”

“It’s funny,” Daniel says quietly. “You never think of what it’s supposed to feel like to meet your soulmate. It’s just… they walk into your life and you never see them walking back out again.”

Hawkeye nods, and they turn back to the drawings.

Some are obviously Hawkeye as a child, but there are also sketches of landscapes, and objects, and the occasional dragon, the pages smelling like dust and rosemary.

“I think this one will interest you especially,” Daniel says, passing Hawkeye one of the landscapes.

“A beach?” Hawkeye asks, skeptically, unsure of the significant look his father is giving him.

“Read the back.”

Hawkeye flips the drawing over, and reads the handwriting on the back.  _ “Stinson Beach, 1911- T.M.” _

“This is Stinson Beach?” Hawkeye asks, his mind whirling, and he has to set the drawing down, his hand shaking.

“Yep. God only knows what she was doing there,” Daniel says, laughing. And then he says softly. “That’s where BJ and Peg’s new place is going to be, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hawkeye says, and the pieces click, slowly, as he realizes just what his father is telling him, showing him these drawings, and this one most of all. “Dad…?”

Daniel gives him a soft smile, but says, almost conversationally. “I never could decide, watching you with them, which one you were in love with.”

Time seems to stop, Hawkeye’s heart pounding in his chest, nausea swelling in his throat as he stares at his father.

Finally, he’s able to choke out the words, not a denial exactly. “Dad you- you know I’d never want to disappoint you-”

Daniel’s face melts into one of astonishment, and then shocking tenderness as he clasps the back of Hawkeye’s neck. “Never. You’ve never disappointed me.”

“But- but this-”

“I can’t pretend to understand everything,” Daniel says, and gives his reeling son a self-deprecating smile. “I’m just a simple country doctor after all. But- but you’re in love with them, aren’t you?”

Hawkeye thinks if he opens his mouth, he’s going to be sick.

Daniel rubs his thumb against the side of Hawkeye’s neck, like he’s calming a skittish horse. “Hawkeye.”

This stops Hawk in his tracks, and he dares to meet his father’s eyes, blue into blue. “Dad?”

“I love you,” Daniel says softly. “You’re my son, and I’m proud of you, and I don’t want you to walk away from a love you could have because of me.”

“But it’s- it’s  _ wrong,”  _ Hawkeye croaks. “Everyone will say so.”

“Nobody that matters,” Daniel says firmly.

Hawkeye doesn’t dare to believe what he’s hearing. “So you’re saying…?”

“I’m saying that we don’t choose who we fall in love with, but we do choose how we deal with it.”

“And you think I should… deal with it?”

Daniel shifts his hand so that he’s cupping his son’s cheek, giving him a gentle smile. “I think you should do what you think is best. And I will be with you, no matter what.”

“I love you, Dad.” Hawkeye’s voice breaks, as he pulls Daniel into a hug, still unable to believe this is happening.

“I love you too, Ben.” Daniel sounds choked up too. “I love you so much.”

“And…” Hawkeye trails off, his face buried in his father’s shoulder. “This is okay?”

He can tell Daniel is smiling. “Like I said, it’ll take a few tries to get it all right, but yes, Ben, it’s okay.”

Hawkeye sags in relief.

_ It’s okay. _

* * *

“I somehow knew I’d find you here,” Louise mutters, walking across the bar to where John is slumped. “If you’re drunk right now, you’re going upstairs and to bed. You’re in no state to go to any reunion.”

“’m fine,” John mumbles, propping his head up. “Just wettin’ my whistle. How are the girls?”

“Utterly spoiled, just like my night is about to be.”

“Don’t shout, Lou,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Toldja, I’m fine.”

“You can barely sit up.”

“I barely slept!”

“Either way, you’re not having anything else to drink.”

“Don’t nag.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to nag!” she snaps, taking his shot glass and downing it herself. “There. C’mon. You’re not showing up to see all your old colleagues smelling like a barroom floor.”

“Why not? Most of my time in Korea was spent on a barroom floor.”

“Because somebody,” she says, brushing his curls out of his face, “has to keep you respectable somehow, and that happens to be me.”

“You’re too good to me, Lou. How are the girls, really?” he asks, clambering off his barstool.

“They’re fine. Anna is treating them like royalty. Now will you come upstairs and get ready?”

John makes it halfway to the door. “Nuh uh, I need a drink.”

“You need to be slapped upside the head,” she retorts. “John.”

“Fine.” He hesitates, and for a second, he could swear he sees a flash of blue and white in the lobby. “Enough spirits for tonight. Seeing enough ghosts already.”

Louise sighs at the pun, but doesn’t say anything else.

All John can think of is Hawkeye.

* * *

“Knock knock!” Hawkeye calls, knocking on the door of the Hunnicutts’ room.

“Who is it?” Peg calls through the door.

“Your fairy godmother!” Hawkeye calls back, Daniel chuckling beside him, his mother’s drawing tucked in his front pocket.

“What do you want?”

“I’m here to take you to the ball. I’d have a pumpkin carriage but someone wanted pie- oh.”

Peg is grinning at him, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey stranger.”

“H-Hi,” Hawkeye stammers.

“I think you blew a fuse…” Daniel says, poking him. “You look beautiful, Peg.”

“What about me?” Erin asks, rushing out to hug Daniel around the legs.

“Pretty as a picture,” he assures her, hoisting her up. “Oh, and larger than life too!”

“Are we ready?” Beej asks, closing the door behind him.

“Are we?” Hawk asks in return.

“If we stand around asking if we’re ready, we’ll never  _ be  _ ready,” Peg points out. “Let’s go already.”

“After you, Peg.”

And the five of them head downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Nighthawks was finished on June 7th, 1942. Any symbolism about the lack of exits was purely accidental, a sensation most of us artists are familiar with (just ask Edward Hopper).  
> ~  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you ALL for the reads, comments, kudos... and birthday wishes.  
> You're all fantastic xo


	12. The Reunion (Part I)

The late afternoon sun is pouring through the windows of the ballroom, painting golden beams on the black and white tiles, the banner floating in the slight breeze like a flag.

“Rosieland,” Hawk murmurs, looking up at the banner.

“Huh?” BJ looks up from his notes, Peg’s borrowed clipboard in hand.

Hawkeye nods towards the banner. “Reminds me of Rosieland.”

BJ only laughs, shaking his head. “See? I  _ told _ you it was the name of a ballroom.”

Hawkeye grins back, before looking around the ballroom. People have started to trickle in – Mickey and Tony Baker are chatting with Gwen and Shari at one of the tables, the sounds of occasional laughter drifting over – and after all the months of planning, of anxiety, it’s like something in him, some tightly-wound knot, has loosened.

“We have a problem,” Peg says, popping up.

“What kind of problem?” BJ asks, snapping to attention.

“The hotel record player has gone missing,” Peg explains, her brow creased with anxiety. “We don’t have any music.”

“None at all?”

“Well,” Peg amends, “we have records, we just have nothing to play them on.”

“If we could get a piano, we could always get Father Mulcahy to sing for us,” Hawkeye says. “Why don’t you go ask if we can borrow the grand piano from the lobby? Offer up Erin as collateral.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

“You’re right,” Hawk teases. “I’ll have them throw in a horn section too. We can’t let such a fine five-year-old go for  _ just  _ a grand piano.”

“Did I hear someone needed a record player?”

The three of them turn, only to see Peg Bigelow, Judy Able and Kealani Kellye standing in the doorway. Bigelow is holding a record player.

“Why, Nurse Bigelow!” Hawkeye says, leaning against the nearest column. “Now all we need is the wine and candlelight!”

“Some other time, Hawk,” she says, walking right past him and handing Peg the record player. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect. How did-”

Bigelow laughs, and it’s as though Hawk has stepped quite firmly through the looking glass, because Korea is a separate reality, but the two have just collided, Peg Hunnicutt and Peg Bigelow laughing over a record player together. “The first thing you learn in nursing school is to wash your hands. The second is that the girl who has a record player makes the most friends.”

“It’s perfect,” Peg says again, taking it from her. “I’d better go get this set up.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No,” Peg says, and then holds out a hand. “Peg Hunnicutt.”

“Peggy Bigelow. And this is Judy, and Kealani.”

“Everyone here calls me Kellye.”

“It’s um.” Hawkeye watches in delight as Peg blushes, looking between Bigelow and Kellye. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d better. Music.”

She hurries off, the record player clutched in her arms, surprisingly flustered.

“Gee,” Hawkeye says, instead of a greeting, because they’re all grinning at him, “And I thought I was the only one affected by you guys.”

“Hawkeye, have you ever met a nurse you didn’t try to score with?” Kellye asks.

“Nope.”

“Not even the male ones?”

Hawk laughs, a little nervously. “I try to save them for you, Kellye. But hey speaking of, can I talk you into dancing with me later?”

“Maybe,” Kellye raises an eyebrow. “Maybe not.”

“Tease!” he calls after her.

“Pierce,” Sherman Potter says from the doorway, “do mine ears deceive me or are you still strikin’ out with the nurses?”

“Absence has not made the heart fonder,” Hawkeye says in return, before holding up an imaginary bugle and making a loud, off-key fanfare.

BJ grins, and puts on his best court-herald voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Colonel Sherman Potter, and his wife, Lady Mildred!”

Mildred does her best regal wave on Sherm’s arm as they walk in, laughing.

“Lady Mildred is dazzling tonight in her Chanel gown, and her genuine mink stole,” Hawkeye adds. “Be sure to catch her interview in  _ Good Housekeeping  _ when it appears on newsstands next month.”

Mildred is laughing, while Sherm shakes his head. “Boys, some advice?”

“Sure, Colonel.”

“Don’t quit your day job.”

“Welcome to the party, Colonel,” BJ says. “Sit wherever you like.”

“I think I’ll go join in the medical conference with Dr. Pierce and the future Dr. Hunnicutt,” Sherman says, nodding towards Erin and Daniel, before holding an arm out to his wife. “Would you care to accompany me, milady?”

“Why Colonel Potter, I’d be delighted.” Mildred takes his arm, winking at the boys as they sweep off.

Hawkeye’s chest feels tight as he watches them go, though he can’t say why.

And then, glancing back at BJ, who’s busy greeting Nurse Jennifer, it clicks: for all Hawkeye has his mother’s drawing in his pocket and his father’s blessing, BJ and Peg are still a unit, a dynamic duo- and there’s no room for a spare.

BJ hasn’t noticed his wistfulness, because as Jennifer walks away, he leans in. “I give it ten minutes.”

“Until what?”

“Until this place looks like Grand Central Station. Or an insane asylum, I can’t decide.”

“Can’t be an insane asylum,” Hawkeye says, a reluctant voice of authority, though he tries to make it sound like a joke. “The décor is  _ much  _ too tasteful.”

BJ shoots him a worried look sideways.

“Just kidding.”

BJ looks as though he’d like to say more, but he’s distracted by the latest arrival.

“Hawkeye! BJ!”

Hawkeye, being closer to the door, is tackled first in a hug, a familiar perfume registering in his nose. “Hey Margaret.”

She pulls away, and beams up at him, before hugging BJ.

“Oof. Hiya Margaret.”

“It’s so good to see you both,” she says once she lets BJ go. “Somehow my work’s not the same with a couple of crazy doctors breaking up the routine every now and then.”

“We can be hired by the hour,” Hawkeye jokes.

“For birthday parties.”

“Company functions.”

“But for you,” BJ says, touching her shoulder. “A discount. Friends and family.”

“You look good, Margaret,” Hawkeye says softly.

“So do you,” she tells him.

“Margaret! Major!”

She turns, lighting up at the sight of her nurses, waving at her from the table they’ve claimed.

“Uh…” she turns back to them.

“Well, go on, Margaret,” BJ tells her. “Don’t keep them waiting.”

“I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be counting the minutes!” Hawk calls after her as she runs away. He’d expected their reunion to be awkward, considering the fondness of their farewell, but this is  _ normal,  _ it’s  _ them,  _ and that’s more of a relief than anything.

He’s distracted from further thoughts by the arrival of the Winchesters.

“Dr. Hunnicutt,” Charles says, beaming as he takes BJ’s hand. “BJ. Splendid to see you.”

“Marvelous,” BJ says, imitating him, pumping his arm with a grand handshake. “Absolutely  _ spiffing.” _

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Charles notes, though he’s smiling at least. “It really is good to see you. Your wife writes the most charming little notes, but I’ve been wondering when I’d see a postscript from you.”

“Why Charles,” BJ teases lightly. “Did you miss me after all?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Charles asks, trying to suppress a smile. “Where  _ is  _ that charming wife of yours?”

“She’s running the show,” BJ says, grinning. “I just stand where she tells me. What about you, Charles? Anyone you’re writing sonnets about?”

“Well.” Charles is pink. “I believe you’ll remember Donna?”

“Ah, the former Mrs. Winchester,” BJ says, and Hawkeye can’t help but grin. “Hi Donna.”

“Hiya Dr. Honeydew,” she says, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Didn’t you have a mustache the last time I saw you?”

“Yeah,” BJ answers. “But my wife found it revolting.”

“I did too, but nobody thought to poll  _ me,”  _ Hawkeye adds, grinning, before gesturing to the carnation he’s wearing. “See, Charles? Don’t want you ignoring the wrong person.”

“Pierce,” Charles says, before smiling. “Hello.”

“Hi Charles. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“That’s because you never seem to accept my dinner invitations,” Charles says, though he’s still smiling. “You’re well, I hope?”

“Fit as a fiddle and ready for love,” he jokes. “And I would accept more often, but how often am I in Boston, Chuck?”

“Touché.”

“You never invite me to dinner,” BJ adds.

“Yes, well, it does seem somewhat ludicrous to invite a man from the opposite side of the country to dinner. Especially if there’s traffic.” His voice is serious, but Hawkeye can see the laugh he’s suppressing.

“Maybe if they come visit me, we can all get together,” he suggests, the words slipping out before he can stop them. BJ and Charles exchange a look.

“You know, Charles, I think Hawk might be on to something.”

“You may be right, Pierce. Unlike most of your ideas,  _ this _ one has merit.”

BJ laughs. “It’s good to see you, Charles.”

“Likewise,” Charles tells him.

“And what about you?” BJ asks Donna. “What are you doing hanging around with riff raff like us?”

Donna shoots a tiny, secretive smile in Charles’s direction. “Well, you know, someone has to keep Chuck respectable. And God knows it won’t be Honoria.”

“Speaking of… I don’t believe you two have met my sister?”

“Hi f-fellas.”

Hawkeye’s sure his jaw drops.

He’s seen the pictures, of course, but nothing,  _ nothing _ has prepared him for Honoria Winchester.

She’s six-three, with a piercing blue stare to rival her brother’s, and a halo of messy blonde hair, with cheekbones Hawkeye is sure he could shave with.

And her  _ smile,  _ fuck.

A glance sideways at BJ shows that he’s similarly stricken dumb.

“Hi Charles,” Peg says, appearing, and when did she get back? “And you must be Donna, and- o-oh.”

Hawkeye’s brain has shifted back into gear, coherent thoughts starting to form again, but none of that explains the fact that Peg is bright red and staring at Honoria.

“Hi P-Peggy,” Honoria says, ignoring the boys altogether. “B-Been a while.”

“N-No time at all,” Peg squeaks. “It’s see to nice- I mean it’s n-nice to see you.”

“Norie, I must thank you,” Charles says, grinning at Hawk and BJ. “You’ve just done in a split second what I couldn’t accomplish in a year and a half- silenced these two.”

Honoria laughs, and Hawkeye finally manages to scrape words together. “Wow, you’re…  _ you’re  _ Honoria?”

“I know,” she says smugly. “I’m much b-better looking. Everyone’s s-surprised.”

“Not better looking, just a novelty,” Charles says, smiling. “They’re all used to my face.”

Honoria sticks her tongue out at him. “G-Get used to  _ this  _ f-face.”

“Regrettably, nothing can be done for that.”

Honoria grins. “Excuse me, b-boys, love t-to chat, b-but I’ve just seen M-Margaret.”

“How the hell does Margaret know someone that gorgeous and I don’t?” Hawkeye asks, staring after her, as she runs off.

“Pierce, please,” Charles says with a sigh, staring after his sister.

“I think we all know who the chaperone for this weekend really is,” Donna comments, “and it’s not Honoria.”

“I better go make sure she doesn’t dishonor the family name,” Charles says, pulling a long-suffering face. “But first, a drink.”

They’re left with Donna, who looks towards the doorway. “Are you coming or are you going to stand there like a scarecrow until the crows come, darling?”

Hawkeye and BJ both look over, following her gaze, and Hawkeye blinks in astonishment.

“Hiya.” Steve Newsome is standing in the doorway, his glasses reflecting the sunlight, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Where did  _ you  _ come from?” BJ asks, astonished.

“I found him,” Donna says, as the Winchesters walk off, bickering. “At the Art Institute.”

“She invited me to tag along,” Steve explains, walking in. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Well, every private practice needs an ear throat and leg man,” Hawkeye says, grinning. “Nice to see you, Just Plain.”

“And here I was thinking I wore out my welcome last time.”

BJ grins. “If we got rid of every crazy person who walked through those doors, I’d be standing in an empty ballroom.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, he’d have to get rid of me, for starters,” Hawk says, trying to be casual about it.

Steve grins. “I see you two haven’t changed a bit.”

“It’s hard to improve on perfection.”

“C’mon in,” BJ says, gesturing to the ballroom. “Enjoy the party, Steve.”

Steve nods, and wanders off, to join Donna, who appears to be teasing Charles about something.

“I can’t believe it,” Hawkeye says, staring after him. “He’s… he looks  _ fine.  _ You’d never know…”

BJ squeezes his shoulder. “It isn’t like a brand, Hawk, it’s not permanent. And nobody can tell, alright?”

Hawkeye has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks, Beej.”

BJ gives him a soft smile that makes his heart do something fluttery and medically alarming in his chest. “Anytime.”

* * *

“Here you are, young lady,” Charles says, passing several wrapped packages to Erin.

Erin frowns. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Just say thanks, baby,” Peg says, her feet propped up on a chair. “And open them, I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Thanks Uncle Charlie,” Erin says, somewhat dutifully.

“For the record,” Peg says, leaning in to whisper to Charles. “Bribery isn’t how you get in her good books.”

Charles gives her a small, secretive smile. “Perhaps not, but it doesn’t mean I won’t try. By the way, how do you feel about buying her a pony?”

She blinks. “We can’t fit a pony in our garage.”

He grins. “Why? Too much horsepower?”

Peg laughs, but before she can further dissuade Charles from the idea (without alerting Erin to the notion), they’re distracted by Erin herself.

She tears open the top package. “... Books?”

“Yes,” Charles says, and smiles. “Do you like books?”

Erin tilts her head. “Sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I like this one. It’s about my hometown. Boston.”

Erin makes a face. “Sounds boring.”

Peg sighs, but Charles only laughs. “It’s about ducklings. And the other one, I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind reading to you.”

“What’s the other one?”

“It’s about dogs with spots,” Charles says seriously.

Erin considers this for a second and then nods. “Okay. I’ll try them and let you know in three to five business days.”

Peg starts laughing, unable to help herself.

Charles chuckles too, and pushes the other package towards her. “And there we are.”

Erin tears the paper off, excited. “What is it?”

“It’s a game,” Charles explains, leaning in, his face alight with interest. “A card game I bought in France, that I thought you might like.”

“Mills born?” Erin asks, sounding out the words on the box.

_ “Milles bornes,”  _ Charles says.

“What’s  _ that _ mean?”

“A thousand miles,” he explains. “Here, shall I teach you how to play?”

“Sure!” Erin abandons the stack of books, listening as Charles explains the rules of play, his face animated, and Peg can’t help but wonder just where he picked up his skills in dealing with children.

He somehow ropes Donna and Steve, who’ve been chatting nearby, and BJ, who’s making the rounds, into joining his card game, and since Erin’s in such good hands, Peg takes her glass of wine and goes to join Hawk as a greeter.

“Hey stranger,” she says, sidling up to him. “New in town?”

He lights up when he sees her. “Is that for me?”

“And here I was hoping it was  _ me  _ you were excited to see.”

“Don’t wine,” he tells her, laughing when she swats his arm, taking a sip of the wine, before passing it back. “God, that’s good.”

“I milked the grapes myself.”

He laughs again, leaning in as if to share some sort of secret, eyes alight-

“Hawkeye!”

“Klinger!” Hawk says, sounding delighted as he turns to look at him. “And Mrs. Klinger, ravishing as ever!”

“And our son,” Klinger points out, his voice rich with a parental pride Peg recognizes at once. “This is Seong-jae.”

“Oh Max,” Peg says, staring at the baby, who is indeed very cute, with dark eyes and a tuft of black hair. “Oh he’s adorable.”

“Isn’t he?” Klinger asks, beaming.

“He’s real cute, but he can’t be yours, Klinger. Where’s his nose?” Hawkeye asks, cackling.

“He takes after me, thankfully,” Soon-Lee says, giggling.

Hawkeye is still admiring the baby, but he looks up at Klinger. “I hear you’re not in Toledo anymore.”

“Trust me, Hawk, I grew up there, and it’s not a place you wanna raise your kid.”

“Did you want to hold him?” Soon-Lee asks, noticing how Hawk stares at the baby.

“Oh- uh- listen, I’m um.” Hawkeye hesitates. “I’m kinda a chicken when it comes to babies.”

But he still leans over, staring at the baby with something like wonder in his eyes, and Peg watches, heart aching with love, because even though he seems hesitant, he’s perfectly calm when Soon-Lee lifts Seong-jae into his arms.

“Oh Klinger, he’s beautiful,” Hawkeye says, and grins at Soon-Lee. “My compliments to the chef.”

He laughs harder, his body shaking with suppressed cackles when Seong-jae grabs his nose. “See, you can’t fool this kid. He knows what a nose is supposed to look like.”

Peg can’t help glancing over, trying to see if BJ is watching this little scene, watching Hawkeye, almost completely at ease, and heartbreakingly  _ gorgeous  _ with a baby in his arms.

She catches BJ’s eye, and can tell that he’s seen. He gives her a little smile over Erin’s head, and nods.

* * *

“Are you alright to greet people by yourself for a bit?” Peg asks, after Klinger and Soon-Lee walk off, to general oohs and ahs, jolting Hawk, who’s watching absentmindedly as Klinger talks to Radar.

“Eh?”

“I was going to walk around and see how everything’s going,” Peg says. “Can I trust you not to scare anyone off?”

“I dunno, Peg, I mean there’s a reason I’m a bachelor…” he trails off, teasingly.

“What you are is ridiculous.” She stands on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, leaving him blushing. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright darling?”

“A-Alright.”

He leans against his column, right by the doors, and realizes that this is probably the first time he’s been alone since the reunion started, and without any distractions, all the apprehension he’s been feeling about Trapper comes roaring back, leaving his palms clammy and his chest tight.

What’ll it be like, seeing him again after five years?

The old bitterness lingers in the back of his throat like the long-forgotten dust of Korean roads.

Five years. Ten minutes.

Time hasn’t been on their side.

Hawkeye is just about to flag down a waiter for a drink, feeling the old itch to fortify himself with booze, when the doors open, and Trapper walks in.

Time stops.

Hawkeye stares at him, takes in every detail with greed – the new creases in his forehead, the fact that his curls are a little lighter now – and it isn’t that the years and resentment have fallen away, it’s only that they don’t quite matter so much in the face of Trapper John McIntyre.

“Trap!” he calls.

They lock eyes.

Trap goes white as a ghost, croaks out a single, wavery “Hawk?”

And then he crashes to the ground in a dead faint, his fall surprisingly graceful-looking.

Hawkeye scrambles over to him, kneeling down beside him to the sounds of alarm and concern from those nearest the door, who seem to have noticed the spectacle currently unfolding.

“And he said  _ I  _ was a drama queen,” he mutters to no one in particular, reflexively brushing a stray curl off Trap’s forehead.

That’s when he looks up, and realizes that across Trapper’s unconscious form, he’s staring directly into the eyes of Louise McIntyre.

She’s pretty, it’s the first thing that registers, before he actually remembers who he’s looking at. Louise McIntyre, the reminder he’d once been the proverbial other woman, in the flesh.

“Hi Louise,” he says, wondering just what kind of dream – or nightmare – he’s stumbled into. “You are Louise, right?”

“Yes,” she says, and she almost smiles.

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured meeting you, I gotta say.”

“Judging from my husband’s reaction, you’d have to be-”

“Hawk?” comes a weak voice from between them.

“Hiya Trap,” Hawkeye says, grinning down at him. “Long time, no see.”

“Hawk.” Trapper sits bolt upright, his eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Huh?”

“Dead,” Trapper repeats, his hand coming up, hesitating in front of Hawkeye’s face, as though he’s afraid his fingers will go straight through. There’s pain in his eyes, darkness, but even that can’t smother a flicker of joy.

He still smells the same too.

“Hawkeye,” he says, his drawl made thicker by emotion. “I think the army fucked up.”

“It’s just about the only thing the army’s good at,” Hawkeye agrees, and then Trapper’s fingers are cool on his cheek.

What little colour that’s returned to Trap’s face drains from it again, and then he whispers, “You’re real.”

“I am.”

And then Trapper is wrapping his arms around him, whooping in excitement, and Hawkeye can’t help but press his face into Trap’s shoulder.

“You’re alive,” Trap mutters again. “Ya didn’t die.”

Hawk cups the back of Trap’s skull, breathing him in, confused and relieved, and so  _ fucking  _ happy. “I’m here, Trap. I’m real.”

He thinks he hears a sob of relief, the two of them still embracing on a ballroom floor, five years’ worth of hellos and goodbyes in a single embrace, and there will be time for a real conversation later, the old joy and the old hurt, but for now, there’s only them.

* * *

Honoria isn’t sure, has been watching Father Mulcahy out of the corner of her eye, watches the way he looks at other people, the careful way he answers, as though he’s deliberated on every word.

But eventually, while his sister is caught up in conversation with one of the nurses, she sits down beside him, gives him a smile, and without a word, starts using sign language:  _ Hello Father. _

He blinks in surprise, and then smiles, before signing back.  _ Hello. _

_ Enjoying yourself? _

His smile grows wider.  _ Yes. Good to see everyone again. _

_ I was watching you with them. Looked hard. _

_ Yes, but worth the difficulty. _

_ Do they know? _

The smile falters a bit.  _ Most of them, no. There wasn’t time. Are you…  _ He hesitates.  _ Like me? _

She shakes her head.  _ No. I learned because I have a stutter. So did my brother. _

_ Your brother? _

_ Charles. _

For some reason, this makes him smile. I see  _ you adjusted. You’ve done well. _

_ So did you, Father. _

He considers this for a second, and then nods.  _ I did. And I teach. _

_ Are you happy? _

He gestures to the ballroom, and it’s all the answer she needs, touching his arm with a smile.

Until she’s distracted by the sight of a pretty woman helping a man with curly hair to his feet, aided by Hawkeye Pierce who seems to be hovering like a chicken pecking at the dirt, darting in and then retreating.

_ Father, who is that?  _ She asks in sign language, nodding towards the door.

Father Mulcahy turns, and she can’t miss the way his eyes light up. He beams as he turns back to her.  _ That’s Doctor McIntyre. And his wife, I believe. _

The name ‘Dr. McIntyre’ means nothing to her, but his wife.

“Oh God,” she whispers, flushing.

Because she happens to know Dr. McIntyre’s wife.

* * *

While Hawkeye’s life has been a bit upside down since the second he got his draft notice, it never fails to surprise him how many strange turns his life has taken.

One of the strangest, however, is leading Trapper and Louise over to where BJ and Peg are sitting with a bottle of wine between them, alone at a table like they’ve been waiting for this.

They’re both looking him over, Hawkeye realizes as he approaches, and a feeling of affectionate pride swells in him, as he clears his throat.

“Peg, Beej, this… this is Trapper. And his wife, Louise.”

“We’ve exchanged letters,” BJ says, and then an awkward silence descends.

“You’re uh. You’re my replacement, huh,” Trap comments, shifting nervously, and Hawk cringes.

“Yep,” BJ says, raising an eyebrow.

“And Trap, this is-” he hesitates to say ‘my best friend’, but BJ and Trap have both seen his hesitation, and Hawk sighs. “This is BJ, and Peg, and Erin is around here… somewhere.”

“Erin’s your little girl, right?” Trap asks, still awkward.

“Yes,” Peg says.

“You didn’t bring your girls with you?” Hawkeye asks after a minute, though the answer is obvious.

“Oh. Uh. No, no they’re at home.”

“Damn.” At the look on Trap’s face, he feels the need to explain. “I was hoping to meet them.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a flicker of jealousy across BJ’s face and it makes his stomach ache with the tension. But as much as he’d like to, he can’t just hit ‘pause’ on the conversation and explain himself.

“And it would’ve been someone for Erin to play with,” he adds, somehow feeling masochistic enough to dig himself into a deeper hole. Suggesting in front of BJ that his daughter would enjoy playing with the kids of his rival for Hawk’s affections is bad enough. If it had happened, it might’ve given him an aneurysm.

“Ah, well, they’re at home, gettin’ spoiled rotten.” Trap shrugs. “Don’t feel too bad.”

“We’re glad you could make it,” Peg says to fill the silence.

Trap looks at her, and then does a slow look-over, one that both makes Hawk nervous, and also chokes him with jealousy.

“Aren’t you pretty as a picture?” Trap asks, giving her a lecherous grin that makes Hawkeye wince.

“I’d say your wife is prettier,” Peg says, making Louise turn pink. “And she’s got the advantage of height.”

“Yeah,” BJ says, chiming in with a relief that Hawkeye shares. Their Peg can handle herself after all. “My wife’s only five-one.”

It’s like a punch to the throat, the long-ago memory, and Hawk is about to turn to Beej and remind him that he’s still never told the end of Androcles and the Lion, but they’re not alone now, and it’s too much of an intimacy.

Hawkeye is about to say something anyway, when he’s distracted by movement at the doors of the ballroom.

There’s a woman standing there, looking nervously up at the sign like she’s lost, or like she expects to be chased away.

She looks kind of familiar though, willowy and blonde, but the context is so removed that it takes Hawkeye almost a minute of mental scrambling to place where he knows her from.

Gynecology jokes. Home movies. The dusty smell of an army office.

Without realizing what he’s doing, Hawkeye stands up, and starts walking over to her, the sound of his footsteps echoing in his ears along with his heartbeat, because if anyone should be greeting her, shouldn’t it be him?

He stops in front of her, smiles, and says only, “Hi Mrs. Blake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken record, as usual, but thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.  
> ♥  
> y'all are amazing. xo


	13. The Reunion (Part II)

Mrs. Blake – if that’s indeed who she is – smiles, a little hesitantly. “Hello.”

“You- You are Mrs. Blake right?” Hawk asks, and tries for a smile. “I was worried I’d just contracted foot-in-mouth disease and accused some random woman of marrying Henry.”

Her hesitant smile turns into a grin. “Lorraine.”

“Lorraine,” he repeats warmly, before holding out a hand and getting a tentative handshake. “I’m Hawkeye Pierce.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding a little surprised, as if she’s just realized who she’s talking to. _“You’re_ Hawkeye Pierce?”

“Famed in song and story.”

They lapse into an awkward silence.

It tears into him, just then, how he’d always thought Henry would introduce them at a reunion just like this, just how he’d always thought Henry would _be_ there, a buffer of awkward niceties.

And the loss feels just as fresh as when Radar walked into the OR five years ago.

“I- I really never thought I’d be meeting all of you without him here,” Lorraine says quietly, glancing up at the banner, somehow picking up on Hawkeye’s train of thought. “He was… quite fond of all of you.”

“Almost all of us,” Hawk corrects with a laugh. “One of Henry’s souvenirs from Korea was athlete’s scalp from all the times Margaret and Frank went over his head.”

Lorraine laughs too. “Alright, almost all of you.”

“He had a one-hundred percent approval rating from the rest of us though.”

She glances back up at the banner, suddenly melancholy. “I- I always wanted to write, ask how you were all doing, I just…”

“Couldn’t find the words,” Hawkeye says softly, thinking of all the letters he’s started and never finished. Some emotions just don’t fit neatly into manmade words, some feelings that can’t be conveyed in a pitiful twenty-six letters. “Hey listen, the mail goes both ways, you know? We could’ve reached out too.”

“You did, technically,” she tells him. “It was really wonderful to get that invitation from Dr. Hunnicutt… though I’m not entirely sure I merited one. I was never… I wasn’t there, was I?”

“But Henry was. And since he was one of us, by my questionable logic, that makes you one of us. And it wouldn’t really be fair to leave you standing in the doorway if you’re one of us, would it?”

She laughs. “I guess not.”

“How about I introduce you to everyone?”

“Actually…” she hesitates. “I was hoping I could meet Radar first.”

He offers her his arm. “Right this way, madame, to all points O’Reilly.”

This makes her smile, a little wistfully, but she does take his arm as he leads her through the tables.

“Y’know,” Hawkeye says. “Radar was real fond of Henry, looked up to him, saw him as a mentor, that kind of thing.”

“Well, Henry thought the world of Radar. The way he talked about him in his letters!” Lorraine shakes her head. “Sometimes I’m amazed he didn’t mail him home to me.”

Hawkeye can’t help but laugh at that. “Everybody in Korea knew that Radar was the only one Henry trusted to fix things when they got a little too pear-shaped.”

“Boy, don’t I know it.” She shakes her head again. “It’ll be so good to finally put a face to the name. Though it’s been so long… I’m sure he’s quite grown up by now.”

“Don’t mention that to him,” Hawkeye says, and leans in authoritatively. “He’s sensitive about his height. Or rather his lack of it. Makes him a bit short if you mention it.”

Lorraine laughs again, a heartier one, and it gives him the fleeting impression that she doesn’t laugh all that often. When she does, it transforms her into someone Hawkeye would want to know.

“And here he is now,” Hawkeye says as they arrive at Radar’s table, “for your entertainment, the great Radar O’Reilly.”

“What’s goin’ on, Hawkeye?” Radar asks, coloring under his spectacles.

“Radar,” Hawkeye says, presenting Lorraine to him. “This is Lorraine.”

Radar pales. “Lorraine as in Mrs. Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake Lorraine?”

“One and the same.”

“Hello Radar,” Lorraine says. “May I sit down?”

“Oh, uh, sure ma’am, it’s nice to meet you. Colonel Blake always said real nice stuff about you.”

“How much did you pay him to say that?” Hawkeye asks Lorraine, and is rewarded with another smile.

“Uh, Hawkeye, I can um. Keep Mrs. Blake company for a bit if you wanna walk around?”

Hawkeye blinks, looking between the two of them – probably the two people Henry Blake trusted most in the world – and gets the message. “Sure thing, Radar. Lorraine, it’s been both a pleasure and an honor.”

Lorraine nods. “Thank you Hawkeye, and likewise.”

Hawkeye turns to leave, but stops a few steps away, smiling to himself. “Sure picked a good one, Henry.”

Then, whistling, he walks back over to where the Hunnicutts and McIntyres are, thinking about how he owes BJ just one more ‘thank you’.

* * *

“Why,” Charles says impatiently to Donna, watching his sister hold court with the nurses, all of them giving her the same starry-eyed looks Charles has been seeing on debutantes and Radcliffe girls for twenty years, “Why are they all making-”

“Much ado about nothing?” Donna asks, her mouth twitching, before snapping a picture of Honoria and the nurses.

He looks down at her, unable to keep from smiling. “Yes, exactly.”

“Don’t worry,” Donna says, putting the camera away, before squeezing his hand. “I already know I picked the right one.”

“And I’m ever so glad you did.” He lifts her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it. “Now… where is Klinger?”

“Right there,” Donna says, nodding towards a nearby table. “Max!”

Max’s face lights up when he sees them walking over. “Hey!”

“Max,” Donna says. She drops Charles’s hand in order to hug Max.

“Hey,” Max says again, grinning when he pulls away, smiling shyly at Charles. “Hi Charles.”

“Max,” Charles says, holding out a hand without hesitation.

Max blinks, and then grins, shaking it. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is this table open?” Donna asks.

“Sure, sit down, sit down.” Max, in Charles’s opinion, looks the happiest he’s ever been, or at least the happiest Charles has ever seen him.

“Where’s Soon-Lee?” Donna asks, looking around.

“Feeding Seong-jae,” Max explains. “He was hungry, so I promised I’d stay here and keep an eye out for you two.”

“Both of us?” Charles inquires.

“Uh huh. She’d kill me if she and Seong-jae missed you guys. It’s all she’s been able to talk about since we got here.”

“Seong-jae,” Charles repeats. “What a lyrical name, Max.”

“If it was a girl, we were gonna call her Scheherazade,” Max explains, and then grins. “You guys oughta see him, he’s cute as a meerkat’s nose.”

“I have no doubt,” Charles says, sitting down. “I’m pleased to see you looking so well, Max. New parents are usually so… haggard.”

“Thank you… I think.”

“Ignore him,” Donna says, giving Charles a fondly exasperated smile, before turning back to Max. “So what’s Cincinnati like? I’ve never been.”

“It’s really nice,” Max says, smiling a little. “Clean, quiet… awful segregated though.”

“Do you miss Toledo much?” Donna asks, and Charles can’t help glancing sideways at the note of wistfulness in her voice. He knows well that she misses Oregon, but to hear it so plainly in her voice-

“Y’know, it’s funny. All my time in Korea, I never wanted anything more than to get back home. Only I get home, and…”

“And?” Charles asks.

“It wasn’t home anymore. The city changed. Or I did.” Max’s face darkens. “You know how some of the GIs in Korea would call the locals names?”

“Yes…?”

“Yeah, well.” Max chuckles bitterly. “See, everyone wants to forget that there was a Korean War. Me marrying a Korean kinda scotches those plans, so if they couldn’t forget… neither could we.”

“So you left.”

“Packed up everything we owned in an old steamer trunk and got the hell out. Made our way down to Cincinnati.”

“And… and you’re doing well there, I hope?”

Max’s smile this time is genuine. “We’ve got a little place by the train station, and I’ve got a job helping out a tailor in his shop. Mending, alterations… that kinda thing.”

“I see all that time you dedicated to your finery paid off,” Charles comments. “And you don’t ever regret leaving?”

“Never. Especially since Seong-jae was born. I did what I had to do for them.”

Charles’s heart stutters in his chest, as he searches for the right words. “To change every aspect of your life – twice, might I add – for the ones you love is an incredibly noble gesture.”

“No, Charles, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t do it ‘cause it was noble, I did it ‘cause that’s what you do for family.”

“Why do you all look so serious?” Soon-Lee asks, returning with Seong-jae in her arms, and then lighting up when she realizes who Max is talking to. “Donna!”

“Hi,” Donna says, standing up and embracing her, careful not to squish the baby between them. “Is this Seong-jae?”

Soon-Lee nods.

“Oh,” Donna says, running a finger gently down one chubby cheek. “Oh, Soon-Lee, he’s gorgeous.”

Watching them, Charles feels a pang of longing and jealousy in his stomach, thinking of the communion they have that he will never share, because while Donna was with Max and Soon-Lee in Korea, he was back home in Boston getting reaccustomed to all the privileges of the life he’d left behind.

And how could someone so wonderfully selfless and noble ever choose _him?_

“Hi Charles,” Soon-Lee says, sliding into the available seat on his other side.

“Hello Soon-Lee,” he says, before looking down at the baby, wide-eyed and watching him. “What a charming little fellow.”

“You want to hold him?” she asks, knowingly, and it must be obvious that he very much wants that.

“I- yes.”

She carefully passes him over, so that Charles is holding him, a tiny solid bundle, and to see the tuft of black hair sticking up from his head, the dark eyes that watch him with interest (he supposes to a baby, he thinks to himself with a smile, he does look rather funny), it melts him.

“Hello there,” he says, leaning down. “Aren’t you handsome?”

“Takes after his mother, Allah be praised,” Max remarks with a laugh.

“Actually,” Charles says, looking up. “He rather reminds me of you, Max.”

Max blinks, and then smiles. “Well thank you, Charles.”

“He’s absolutely marvelous,” Charles remarks softly, looking back down at the baby. “Aren’t you?”

“Chuck, I don’t think he’s going to talk back.”

As if on cue, Seong-jae makes a soft cooing noise, and Charles can’t help but laugh, longing and want and adoration twisting into a knot in his chest.

“I have something for him,” he says softly, as the baby reaches up, grabbing at his nose. “Oh! Quite the little athlete.”

“Here you are, Chuck,” Donna says, passing over the teddy bear he brought, which he gives to Seong-jae, distracting him.

“Oh, Charles, you shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it a belated one hundred days gift,” Charles says, looking up at them. “I do believe that is the tradition, yes?”

“How… How did you know that?”

“Well…” Charles pauses. How can he explain without giving away that as soon as he knew they were expecting, he’d researched Korean tradition? “I do read on occasion, Max.”

Soon-Lee wipes her eyes. “You’re sweet.”

“You look like a natural with him,” Max points out.

“I am… rather fond of babies,” he admits.

“Bet you’ll make a great father someday,” Max suggests.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says absentmindedly, stroking Seong-jae’s cheek, watching him gum at the teddy bear, noticing Donna taking the camera out of her bag out of the corner of his eye. “I doubt it’s in the cards.”

“Well maybe if you and Donna got married-”

“Never mind,” Soon-Lee scolds teasingly, as Charles and Donna exchange a look. “What _have_ you two been doing?”

“Oh,” Charles says, still grinning down at Seong-jae, “nothing so exciting as a baby.”

“He’s being modest,” Donna says, rolling her eyes.

“First time for everything,” he teases back.

“Chuck is the head of thoracic surgery at Boston Mercy Hospital,” Donna explains, shooting him a look.

“Hey, Charles, that’s not so bad!” Max says, grinning.

“Regrettably, much of the time I am not in surgery is spent babysitting a rather crude and unruly gang of surgical interns.”

“I call them the _chucklings,”_ Donna explains, giggling. “But only when they’re not around to hear.”

“They can’t be all that bad.”

“Believe me, Max, they make Pierce and Hunnicutt – who I spent two years refining to my tastes – look like _professionals.”_

“Uh… Charles?” Soon-Lee asks, looking over Charles’s shoulder. “Dr. BJ is standing on his head right now.”

Charles doesn’t look around, successfully concealing a smile. “I never claimed to have done it successfully.”

“What about you, Donna?”

“Little old me?” Donna asks with a grin. “I keep Chuck out of trouble, and when I’m not doing that, I’m a copy editor at the _Boston Globe.”_

“The… _Boston Globe?”_ Soon-Lee asks, looking confused.

“It’s a newspaper,” Donna explains, before smiling at Charles. “We do alright for ourselves, don’t we darling?”

Charles flushes pink. “Oh I’d say so.”

“So do we,” Max says.

“Thanks to you,” Soon-Lee adds.

“Believe me,” Charles says, looking down at Seong-jae, who will have a better life because of his parents, in a country with a chance to grow old, “if Donna will allow me to speak for her… it was an honour and a privilege.”

* * *

“I’m surprised at you,” Hawkeye tells John, grinning. “What happened to the social butterfly I used to share a tent with?”

“Flew into one too many porch lights,” John tells him, leaning back in his chair. “Sit down, wouldja?”

“But there are people I want you to _meet,”_ Hawkeye says, bouncing up and down on his toes, bubbly and alive, and somehow so much younger than John remembers him being when they… well, before they parted ways.

“Honey,” John appeals to Louise, who shakes her head.

“Go on, you didn’t come all this way to socialize with _me.”_

“Alright, honey,” John says. “If you stop bouncing, you’re givin’ me motion sickness.”

Hawk, predictably, flushes at the endearment, before glancing guiltily back at the Hunnicutts, leaving John with just a flash of intuition, gone as quick as a lightning strike. Besides, Hawkeye is damn cute when he’s embarrassed, and John has always loved the effect a simple ‘honey’ has.

“C’mon,” he mutters, flushed.

John catches a surprisingly dark look from BJ, one he doesn’t quite understand, as they walk away.

Hawkeye, who seems to be about as interested in nurse-chasing as John is these days (not very), seems to be ready to bypass the nurses’ table altogether. But John, despite his track record of faithfulness since coming home, stops Hawk in his tracks when he spots a familiar face.

“Well lookee here,” he drawls, leaning on the back of her chair. “My old dancin’ partner.”

“Don’t you get fresh with-” Ginger stops when she sees who it is. “Trapper John McIntyre as I live and breathe.”

“Hiya Ginger.”

“Trap,” Hawk mumbles. “It’s rude to Astaire.”

“Long time no see,” he says with a grin, ignoring Hawk.

“Especially when a fella leaves without saying goodbye.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still sore about that.”

“Well, with an accent like that, I thought your mother would’ve raised you with proper Southern manners.”

“Hey, don’t go thinkin’ I’m a gentleman, honey. I never was and I don’t intend to start now.” John laughs. “You been alright?”

“Alright enough. I’m getting married in October.”

“No shit? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s an architect.”

“Well don’t keep us in suspension, is he as good a dancer as Trap here?”

“Oh, I think so.” Ginger smirks. “What about you, have you been keeping busy?”

“Oh you know me, loads of operatin’… and some of it even in the OR.”

Ginger laughs. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

This gives John a queer feeling he can’t entirely laugh off. “No? I thought I’d gotten better looking.”

“Don’t say anything, Ginger,” Hawk warns, laughing. “Or I’ll have to check your eyesight, and we didn’t invite any optometrists.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t see a reason,” Hawkeye says, shrugging, though he grins at the pun.

“Aw get out of here,” Ginger says, shooing them off. “I’ve heard enough of your bad jokes to last five wars!”

“If you have that effect on all women, I understand why you’re single,” John grumbles as they walk away.

Hawk grins, though John can’t help noticing it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, when you’re an ace, who needs a pair?”

John sighs, shaking his head. Regardless of the jokes, it’s the first time since they got to Chicago that he hasn’t needed a drink.

They keep threading their way through the ballroom, and as they do, John watches Hawkeye, watches him interacting with everyone else, notices how they all seem to look up to him. It’s bittersweet, how at ease Hawkeye seems with everyone else but him, with the casual introductions, the references to things John missed, that easy laughter that always kept the darkness at bay.

How can John not still love him?

“What are you looking at?” Hawk asks, catching John’s eye after a quick conversation with a nurse John doesn’t recognize.

“N-Nothin’.”

Hawk shrugs, glancing around, and then a wicked grin spreads across his face, the kind that in Korea meant some general was about to get powdered egg on his face. It makes John ache to see it.

“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I’ve got someone you’ll wanna meet.”

They make their way over to another table, which is mostly empty, save for a bald-headed man and a curly-haired woman, their heads bent close.

Hawk, with all the tact of a Sherman tank, clears his throat loudly to announce their presence.

The couple jumps apart, the man giving Hawk an annoyed look. “Pierce, what the hell do _you_ want?”

John’s mouth drops open at this rude greeting, but a glance sideways at Hawk shows he’s decidedly unruffled.

“Hi to you too, Charles. Charles, Donna, I’d like you to meet Dr. John McIntyre. Trap, this is Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. He’s from your neck of the woods. And this is his… this is Donna.”

“Donna Marie Parker,” the woman says with a smile that could melt a glacier. “The first. From Oregon.”

“If all the girls in Oregon look like you, remind me to go there,” John says, unable to resist a leer. “You got any sisters, honey?”

“Not if you’re the one asking,” she says with a tight smile, and Hawk cackles, leaving John with the impression that he’s been shot down.

“Maybe if I wear a disguise…”

“Maybe if you try a different state.”

“Now _that’s_ a statement,” Hawk says.

“Ahem.” It’s Winchester’s turn to clear his throat. “So _you_ are the Dr. McIntyre I have heard… so much about.”

“Oh,” John says, a little stupidly, when the accent registers. “Oh, you’re one ‘a them.”

Dr. Winchester leans back in his chair, arms crossed, decidedly unimpressed. “You also hail from Boston?”

The way he says it, that smug accent that marks him as a Brahmin, it’s as though he can’t believe his beloved city produced someone so uncouth.

“Yeah,” John mutters. “I’m in general surgery over at Boston General.”

“General general surgery,” Hawkeye suggests helpfully.

“You?”

“Chief of thoracic surgery at Boston Mercy Hospital,” Charles says smoothly, and John decides after a smug silence that he hates him.

“How much did _that_ job cost ya?” he asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Charles chuckles. “Pierce here will be all too glad to assure you my surgical skills more than merited me the job.”

“And the last name Winchester didn’t hurt your shot either.”

“No, it rarely does with a man of my caliber,” Charles says smoothly, though his mouth twitches at his own joke.

“Where’s your sister, Charles?” Hawkeye asks, sensing imminent bloodshed.

“What on earth do you want with her?”

“I need to make sure my salivary glands work.”

“Disgusting,” Charles says, rolling his eyes. “Regrettably, Pierce, _you_ have not changed one iota.”

“Regrettably, Charles, the only change in you is the fact that you’ve gotten _balder.”_

John looks at Hawk in alarm. Since when did Hawk let fat cats talk to him like that? But he seems to be enjoying this.

“Pierce, were my hands not presently occupied, I would throw them up at your deplorable behavior.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Hawkeye retorts. “And just throw up.”

“I see your sense of humour has not gotten any less crude.” Charles nods across the ballroom. “Honoria is still holding court with the nurses. I imagine they’ll deify her any day now.”

“Honoria…” John says, frowning. “Unusual name.”

“It would be, to you,” Charles remarks.

“It’s my eldest’s middle name, actually,” John comments, and there’s an ache of a different kind when he thinks of his girls.

Charles quirks an eyebrow at this. “Really? That _is_ unusual.”

“Aw, my wife picked it out, I just made sure they wrote it on the birth certificate.”

“… interesting. Pierce, has Dr. McIntyre met the Colonel yet?”

“No, we were just heading that way. Seen him recently?”

“Yes, he’s talking to Margaret, I believe.”

“Margaret?” John asks, the thought sending a jolt through him. “Ya mean Hot Lips?”

“No,” Charles says firmly. “Margaret. _Major_ Houlihan to your ilk.”

“What’s she doin’ here?”

“She’s part of the staff,” Hawkeye says, nonchalantly, and then grins. “Oh. Right.”

“Right _what?”_

“Nothing. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to our CO after Henry. See you later, Charles.”

“Well _gee,_ I’ll be sure to count the minutes.”

“What’s with _him?”_ John asks, glancing back as they walk away.

“What do you mean?” Hawkeye asks, frowning. “He’s Charles.”

“He talks to ya like you’re dirt.”

“Actually, that was one of his warmer and fuzzier moments.”

“You’re kiddin’.”

“Nope. And besides, he grows on you.”

“How?”

“He replaced ol’ Ferret Face when his brain finally seceded from the union.”

“Speakin’ of, where _is_ ol’ Ferret Face?”

“Him? Oh he’s back in Indiana, practicing mal on veterans, if you believe him. Personally I think he’s the latest pupil at the Fort Wayne funny farm.”

“Ya mean he actually cracked?”

“Well after him and Margaret cracked up, it was only logical he would too.”

“Wait, him and Hot Lips-?”

“Hi Colonel.”

John shuts up. Because standing right in front of him _is_ Hot Lips, talking with a man who looks like an old war horse, but who looks at Hawk with fondness.

And Jesus, if John isn’t crazy, Hot Lips doesn’t look too angry at Hawk’s presence either.

“Hiya son,” the Colonel says. “I see you’ve got company.”

“Yes, Colonel, you’ll remember me talking about Trapper John McIntyre? Well here he is, in the flesh.”

“A real pleasure,” the Colonel says, nodding. “But it’s just Sherman. None of this Colonel stuff, I’m retired.”

“We like to think we drove him to it, but he just wanted to get back to Broadway,” Hawkeye explains _sotto voce_ to John, who grins.

“I’ve heard loads of stories about you, son,” Sherman says, looking up at Trapper. “You’re quite the notorious figure in these parts.”

“Well,” John shrugs, embarrassed.

“And you’ve already met Margaret-”

“Well sure,” Trap drawls, “Hiya Hot Lips.”

He doesn’t think he’s talking too loudly, but the temperature of the room seems to drop a few degrees, the area immediately around them going dead silent, Hot Lips fixing him with a familiar stare of unyielding hate.

“Excuse me for a second, Colonel,” she says politely, and Sherman nods.

And then she steps up to John, smiling sweetly, and he thinks he’s escaped- until she decks him.

His jaw explodes with pain, made worse when the impact makes him bite his tongue. He clutches it, staggering back a few steps.

Hawkeye is chuckling, quietly.

“What did I do?” John asks, bewildered.

“My name,” and it’s almost a hiss of anger, “is _Margaret.”_

And then, surprisingly, she turns right back to the Colonel as if John had never spoken at all.

“You might want to get some ice on that,” Hawkeye comments nonchalantly as he leads John away.

“I don’t understand.”

Hawk pats him on the back, sympathetically. “How about I explain it to you? I’ll even use small letters.”

“What happened with her?” John asks, looking over his shoulder.

“The ultimate tragedy,” Hawk says, but he’s grinning. “She grew up.”

John rubs his jaw, feeling a matching twinge from his pride. “Don’t think I’ll try that again.”

Hawk laughs. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day. C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“No thanks,” John says, and then stops, struck momentarily dumb by surprise. He fumbles for words. “I’ve seen what you do to alcohol.”

Hawkeye only laughs, more intoxicating than any drink, and leads him away.

* * *

To Walter, Lorraine Blake is exactly as nice as Henry always made her sound, warm and friendly, and pretty too, though there’s a quietness about her that Walter’s seen in his Ma sometimes.

She listens, watching him, to his stories about Henry, old stories he’s looked over in his mind a hundred times, and he wonders a little if she knows how he’d give anything to have stopped Henry getting on that plane.

“Uh, listen,” he says, remembering, trying to pick his words carefully, “I still have a thermometer he gave me, if- if you want it back.”

She looks at him, surprised. “Oh, no, no, he gave it to _you,_ Radar.”

“But uh, dontcha think you ought to have something to remember him by?”

Lorraine smiles. “There’s no chance I’ll ever forget him, Radar, don’t you worry. The thermometer is yours.”

“You know, we were all real fond of Henry,” he says. “I really liked him.”

“He always told me how glad he was to have you running the place so he didn’t have to,” Lorraine says with a smile. “He always knew he could depend on you.”

“Oh.” Walter blushes, unable to help himself. “Uh, listen, Mrs. Blake, if there’s ever anything I can do for ya… I mean I don’t have much money, but…”

“You’ve done plenty,” she tells him kindly, touching his arm. “But there is one thing.”

“Anything.”

She laughs. “I’d like to write to you every now and then if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Oh! Gee, that would be swell. I’d like that a lot.”

This makes her smile. “You know, Henry would be so proud of you, Radar.”

Walter blushes again, looking down at the tablecloth to hide the fact that his eyes are wet. “Oh, I think he’d be proud of you too, ma’am, if you’ll pardon my forwardedness in saying so.”

He dares to look up, only to find Lorraine holding out a handkerchief.

“You should be proud too,” she says softly.

“T-Thank you,” he stammers. “I guess he’d be proud of both of us, huh.”

Lorraine nods. “He would.”

* * *

“This here is Cory,” Sherm says, holding up a photo. “My grandson.”

“Man, he’s gotten big,” Hawk says, taking the photo from him. “I remember when he was pooping our party plans by turning five, the little fink.”

Sherm tries to take the photo back, but Hawk passes it on to BJ instead.

“As it so happens,” Sherm adds, “Mildred’s told me our Evy is having another baby.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Hawk says. “Anybody got a cigar?”

“Knowing you, it would explode.”

Peg snorts. “He’s not _Leo,_ BJ.”

“When’s the baby due, Colonel?”

“November!” He leans in. “Personally, I’m rooting for a girl.”

“Girls are wonderful,” Louise says wistfully from beside Peg. “John and I have two of them.”

“Where is your husband anyway?” Peg asks.

“Making Frank roll over in his straitjacket,” Hawk answers before Louise can, nodding a few tables away. “Gambling with formerly enlisted men.”

“Unlisted men?” Peg suggests.

Hawk laughs. “Very good.”

“Do you have a picture of your girls?” BJ asks Louise.

“Oh! Yes. Um. Here.”

“Beautiful,” BJ says, before showing Hawk.

“Wow, they’re all grown up. Trap’ll be fighting them off with a shotgun in a few more years. How old are they now?”

“Becky is twelve,” Louise says. “and Kathy is ten.”

“They’ve got your smile,” Peg tells her, making her grin in reply.

“They’ve got their father’s attitude,” Louise says dryly.

“This is Jane, Molly and Andrew,” Lorraine says, passing a photo around, following it up with another. “And this is Henry.”

“They’re adorable,” Hawkeye says, a lump in his throat. There’s a remarkably somber look on BJ’s face- they all know that Henry Junior never met his father.

“What’s this, exchanging photographs?” Charles asks, walking past. “How quaint.”

“Lorraine, have you met Charles? He’s living proof why little Henry should never make a third.”

“Very funny, Pierce. As it happens, I have a picture myself-”

“It’s of his trust fund,” BJ mumbles.

“Or his horse.”

“Or his butler.”

“Simmer down.”

“There,” Charles says, passing it to Sherm. “Hardly ever wakes us in the middle of the night anymore.”

“Eh?”

“Does have a tendency to crawl into bed with us though,” Charles adds, confusing Hawkeye further.

“I didn’t know you and Donna were uh… that close,” Hawk comments. “In fact I’d bet money you’ve never landed on her shores. You’re not much of a sailor.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Pierce.”

“Oh he’s adorable,” Peg says, looking at the photo. “Hawkeye, you have to see this.”

When the photo is passed to him, Hawkeye finds himself looking down at a tiny dalmatian puppy. “But- I thought-”

“His name is Pongo,” Charles says proudly. “He was a Christmas gift from my sister.”

“Lady and the tramp,” BJ mutters.

“We’re talking about children!”

“So am I.”

“Get outta here!” Hawk orders, and Charles, chuckling, takes his photo back and goes.

“I wonder if Charles wants to trade,” BJ says thoughtfully, staring after him.

“Nah, I don’t think Erin’s housetrained,” Hawk agrees.

Peg nudges both of them. “You two are ridiculous.”

“You’re right, Erin’s not all that bad.”

Peg rolls her eyes, and Hawk grins.

* * *

“Uh, boys and girls?” Sherm calls out above the din.

“Quiet!” Radar bellows, silencing those assembled.

Sherm grins. “Thank you son. Now, I know you’re all itchin’ like a horse in fly season to catch up with each other, and I may not be your CO anymore, but I believe it’s time to have some photos taken.”

“Can I have mine in wallet size?” Hawkeye calls out, making people laugh.

“Will there be a commemorative album available in the gift shop?” Dr. McIntyre asks beside him.

“’Course not,” BJ says on Hawk’s other side. “The photos have been doctored.”

“That’s because they’re very hard to nurse,” Peg adds.

“Quiet, the lot of you!” Charles tells them, before gesturing to Sherm. “Doctor.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Sherm says with a nod. “I was thinkin’ we could take it under the banner. That sound good to you, Hunnicutt?”

“Why me?” BJ asks.

“It’s your shindig, ain’t it?”

BJ grins. “It’s Charles’s camera.”

“The banner sounds perfect.”

Sherm feels more like an army veterinarian than an army veteran- getting everyone in place under the banner is like herding cats, and takes the better part of twenty minutes – not counting a five minute delay when Erin Hunnicutt has to run to the bathroom.

“Uh, Colonel Doctor, sir?”

“Radar, how many times do I have to tell ya,” Sherm says, fondly exasperated. “It’s just Sherm.”

“Right. Uh, who’s gonna take the picture?”

“Alright,” Hawkeye says from his place between BJ and Charles. “Who forgot to pay the photographer?”

“As appreciated as the levity is, son, it doesn’t change the fact that one of us won’t be in the picture.”

“Unless…” BJ says, wiggling his way out of the crowd, and runs out of the ballroom.

“Pierce, I think I found your photographer. He seems to be off like a flash.”

 _“Charles,”_ Hawkeye groans.

And then BJ reappears in the doorway, with a young boy – one of the bellhops, if Sherm is putting the pieces together right. “Everyone, meet our photographer. Keith, everyone, everyone, Keith.”

Keith waves.

“Here you go, Keith,” BJ says, passing over the camera. “We’ll let you know when.”

He runs back and squeezes back into place – with so many of them in the shot, it’s a little cramped – before calling out, “everyone ready?”

“Ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Keith.”

“Alright, in three… two… one.”

And then, captured for just a moment, like a dragonfly in amber, is the 4077 staff, alive and whole and healed, grinning like they’ve won the big prize.

And, Sherman thinks, smelling the familiar scent of Margaret’s perfume on one side, and Mildred’s on the other, they just might’ve.

“Hang on, hang on,” Hawkeye says. “I think I blinked.”

“Here sailor,” BJ says, throwing an arm around Hawk’s shoulder as they walk away. “Buy you a drink to drown your sorrows?”

Sherm grins to himself as everyone wanders back off, watching Peggy Bigelow setting up her record player.

“Sherman Potter, what’s got you grinning like a horse in a hayloft?” Mildred asks.

“It’s nice to have the family back together again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,  
> I just wanna apologize for the lateness of the chapter, and to thank you all again for the kudos, comments and hits. You've all been gems and thank you for being patient.  
> ALSO in case you missed it, this story will now have 16 chapters instead of 15!  
> ♥


	14. The Reunion (Part III)

The sun is sinking behind the trees outside, painting the ballroom floor in alternating stripes of sunlight and shadow, as the music from Bigelow’s record player winds its way through the ballroom.

Donna doesn’t know the song, but the atmosphere it creates is fitting, sweet but tinged with melancholy, like a bittersweet memory.

But Charles, clutching her hand under the tablecloth, his face pale, looks as though he’d like to be anywhere else right now as the music crashes over him, a savage beast unable to be soothed by its charms.

“Chuck?”

He tries a smile. “I’m perfectly alright.”

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.” She squeezes his hand in reassurance, thanking God for the mostly mild reaction. A few years ago, he would’ve had to leave the room altogether at the first note, shaking and near tears, so this is a good sign. 

“Donna…”

“Dance with me, Chuck,” she says, tugging him to his feet. Several years of practice have taught her that the only way he won’t focus on the music is if she distracts him.

“Dance?” he repeats, confused, though he follows her onto the empty dance floor. “Donna…”

“Chuck,” she says, taking both his hands in hers and squeezing them. “I have a dance I want to teach you. It’s… a waltz. A traditional one, in fact.”

His brow furrows, but his eyes are fixed on her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“My mother taught me this,” she says, and smiles. “Now I’m going to teach it to you.”

“But the music-”

“Forget the music, Chuck. Focus on me.”

As she walks him through the steps of the ländler, their dance utterly out of sync with the music, the tension leaves his shoulders, frowning in concentration as he tries to remember the steps.

This is a dance Donna learned under her mother’s tutelage, standing on her father’s feet, in a living room thousands of miles and many years away- and she teaches it to Charles, each step a memory.

“I imagine they’re looking at us,” Charles comments as she directs him into a spin.

“Don’t look at them, Chuck,” she whispers, looking up into brilliant blue eyes. “Look at me.”

“I only see you,” he tells her softly as they keep spinning, his expression turning to one of tenderness, and he looks at her,  _ oh,  _ like art.

She is caught in his gravity, their spinning slowing down, his eyes flickering over his lips, and she can tell the music is lost to him, his only focus is her.

He gently reaches up to brush his thumb over her lips.  _ “Anassa kata.” _

She flushes pink, her cheeks hot as Charles stares at her. “Chuck-”

His thumb moves across her cheekbone. “Your face is red.”

She wants to step back, but she flushes brighter, because only Charles would invoke her as a goddess with a whispered  _ ‘Queen, descend!’. _

“I love you,” she tells him, and means it, every string of her heart singing with it.

He leans in to kiss her, and when he pulls away, he says only, “I know.”

* * *

“Peg, dear, I really wouldn’t worry too much,” Daniel says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “My Thalia was a perfectly fine cook and  _ she  _ never got the hang of jam, either.”

“It is tricky,” Mildred agrees, “All you have to do is turn your back at the wrong moment and you’ll lose a batch surer than losing sheep in a snowstorm.”

“And the stove,” Peg mutters, still rankling at the indignity, which only makes Mildred and Daniel grin.

“Well, why doesn’t Dad teach you?” Hawkeye asks, tuning back in from a private joke he’s been sharing with BJ.

“Huh?”

“Dad knows everything you need to know about cooking. Jams, jellies, pickles, preserves… he makes a blueberry jam so delicious I wanna be embalmed in it. It’s even in my will.”

“Well,” Daniel says, flushing. “I- I had to learn.”

“He’s being modest,” Hawkeye tells them. “I’m fairly certain he was a chef at the Cordon Bleu in a past life.”

“I had to learn,” Daniel repeats, still pink in the face. “What else were we going to do without your mother, starve?”

“What I’m getting from this is that you’d be better off without me,” Peg tells BJ, who touches her hand.

“That’s what  _ you  _ think, Peggy Jane.”

“Jam aside, Thalia  _ was  _ a fine cook. She just tended to be a little absentminded. Always focused on her garden or her latest painting…”

“And next thing we knew, dinner would be lightly charred,” Hawkeye says with a grin. “Still tasted alright.”

“And what didn’t, we fed to Oscar.”

“Mom’s dog,” Hawkeye explains. “A dachshund.”

“A hot dog?” Peg asks, unthinkingly.

BJ is just opening his mouth to reply, probably with some god awful pun, when Hawkeye gives her a soft smile, and says, “She’d have liked you.”

Peg flushes. “Oh?”

“I wish you could’ve met her, Pegs. I think she’d have found you a real kindred spirit.” And then Hawk grins. “Oh look at me, being Lucy Maudlin Montgomery.”

She groans.

“Where’s that little half-pint of yours, BJ?” Sherman asks, glancing around the ballroom. “I haven’t seen her in an age.”

“She’s probably off charming the pants off of someone unsuspecting.”

“Uh oh,” Peg says, craning her neck. “Looks like she found that someone.”

“Who?” BJ asks.

“The nurses. Looks like she’s roped them into a  _ Milles Bornes  _ tournament.” Peg sighs. “Why do I get the feeling she’ll be starting a revolution by the time she’s a teenager?”

“She ‘minds me of you, Peg. A spirited little thing, too.”

“Sometimes a little  _ too  _ much like me.” Peg grins. “Since we got into an argument this afternoon about her wearing overalls tonight.”

“She thought she couldn’t play in a dress,” BJ adds.

Sherman only laughs. “Our Evy was a handful too at that age.”

This makes Peg laugh. “Oh, weren’t we all. When I was Erin’s age, I spent my time trying to convince my best friend Davy to teach me how to pee standing up.”

She grins into her wineglass as BJ and Hawk turn simultaneous shades of pink at the thought, but Daniel and the Potters both start laughing.

Sherman looks over at BJ. “Son, if you ever decide that this special lady isn’t enough for you, we’re gonna have to have a long,  _ long  _ chat about it.”

“I won’t let her go unless it’s to a good home,” BJ says, giving her a secretive little look and a smile.

“Oh, Daniel, don’t let me forget,” Mildred says across the table. “I copied a jam recipe I thought you might like from  _ Good Housekeeping-  _ blueberry-cranberry.”

“Sounds delicious. Have you tried it yet?”

“I thought I’d have you try it first.”

“I seem to recall you saying that about the kimchi too,” Daniel says, eyeing her. “And I recall all too vividly the two days I spent locked in the bathroom after  _ that.” _

“You make an excellent guinea pig,” Mildred assures him dryly. “And I  _ did _ say sorry for the kimchi.”

He leans on the table and gives her a roguish grin, somehow both dirtier and more chivalrous than his son’s smile. “How about you make it up to me with a dance?”

“Said and done.”

“Nothing fancy like they’re doing,” Daniel says, nodding towards Charles and Donna who are doing some kind of waltz on the dance floor.

“Oh goodness,” Mildred says with a laugh as the two of them stop, Charles leaning down to kiss Donna. “Definitely nothing like that.”

“I should think not,” Sherman adds, making them all laugh. “But someone ought to keep the young things company on the floor.”

“In that case,” Daniel says, holding out a hand to Mildred. “Shall we?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Sherman fixes Daniel with a stern look. “Keep your hands above the stern, soldier.”

“Don’t worry, Sherm, I’m a good sailor, I know all about the stern- that’s where you stand with binoculars, right?”

Peggy laughs, as Daniel and Mildred take to the floor, leaving Sherman rolling his eyes, but at least he’s smiling too.

“Pierce,” he says absentmindedly, “I swear you and your father will be the death of me.”

“But what a way to go!”

BJ looks at Peg, and grins, and she can’t help but smile back. “Wanna dance?”

“I’d love to, darling, but Hawkeye will feel neglected.”

Hawkeye grins. “I thought I’d go beg a dance from Erin. She’s the only girl here who doesn’t know my reputation.”

“She’s the only girl here who thinks you’re a stripper.”

“True, but you Hunnicutts all have a knack for getting right to the heart of me.”

With that comment, Hawkeye heads off to find Erin, leaving BJ and Peg staring at each other.

“He really is ours, isn’t he?” BJ asks conversationally.

Peg can only nod as she watches Hawk escort Erin to the dance floor, helps her stand on his feet, and starts to dance with her, the same look of adoration on his face that Peg sees when BJ watches their daughter- a look of utter parental pride.

And Peg feels pride of a different kind, watching them, a possessive greedy pride. He’s  _ theirs,  _ dammit.

* * *

“I’d ask to cut in,” Steve says mildly, looking between Donna and Charles, “but I don’t think I know that step.”

“Be my guest, Doctor,” Charles says, stepping away. “Donna was just teaching me the finer points of the ländler.”

“It’s a cute little step, I’ll give you that, but you’ll have to go easier on me.”

She holds out a hand, “shall we then?”

Charles gives her a nod, reassuring her that he’s alright with just a look, and wanders off, looking vaguely pleased with himself.

“So,” Steve says, as they start to dance. “I guess this is the part where I say it’s been a while.”

“It has been,” she agrees. “I haven’t seen you since Tokyo General.”

“Yeah, well I was a different man then,” he says with a laugh. “You didn’t get my best side at Tokyo General; drinking, chasing Geisha girls…”

“Don’t act like you were so unique,” she teases. “Everyone at HQ drank like a fish  _ and  _ chased Geisha girls like it was the national sport.”

“Even you?”

_ “That _ would be telling,” she says with a wink, making him laugh. “CJ used to say HQ stood for ‘highly questionable’.”

He laughs too.  _ “Her  _ I remember. You still in touch with her?”

“I should hope so, since she’s watching my dog for me this weekend.”

“Your dog?”

Donna grins. “Well, he’s really Charles’s dog, but he loves me anyway. And he’s always happy to see me when I get home.”

“Charles?” Steve asks. “Or the dog?”

“Definitely the dog.”

“Almost makes me think I wouldn’t mind a dog.”

“They’re frightfully needy and insecure… rather like men.”

He laughs. “Touché. But I think I’ll get one anyway.”

“A man?” she asks, mimicking him. “Or a dog?”

“A dog.”

“Well, take it from me, the poor things can’t stand when you keep irregular hours,” she tells him. “So-”

“I’m not in surgery anywhere if that’s what you’re worried about,” he teases gently.

“Then-”

“I’m teaching at Johns Hopkins. They’re a lot less picky about your brains there- as long as your brains are available for picking, they don’t care if your classroom has rubber wallpaper.”

“And…” she searches his face, remembers the sight of it over cups of sake, over terrible hospital cafeteria food, passing paperbacks and translation guides back and forth over lunch, memories so old and worn they’ve nearly been forgotten. “You’re alright?”

“Peachy,” he assures her, and then grins. “I take it you’re not so bad yourself.”

“What gave it away?”

“Well, you’re marrying a guy- for the second time, so something stuck.”

“You  _ remember  _ that?”

“Of course. I seem to recall you telling me that as a captain I was legally authorized to perform marriages.” He laughs. “I had to somehow get it through your head that I wasn’t that kind of captain.”

She laughs too. “Something definitely stuck.”

The song ends, and Steve steps away.

“Excuse me,” Charles says at Donna’s elbow, making her jump. “I seem to be without a partner…”

“All yours,” Steve says, grinning, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Excellent.” Charles grins, and holds out a hand to Steve. “Shall we then?”

Donna can’t help but laugh as Steve and Charles waltz off, feeling as though she really  _ has _ come home.

* * *

Louise is sitting by herself with a glass of wine, watching John dance with a nurse named Ginger, when an older woman – Colonel Potter’s wife? – walks over, giving her a smile. “You’re Louise, aren’t you?”

“The one and only,” she says, draining her glass.

“I’m Mildred Potter.” Her cheeks are flushed from laughter and exertion. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Louise gestures to the empty chair beside her, before turning to watch John, her mind wandering. “Mrs. Potter…”

“Oh, call me Mildred.” She rolls her eyes. “Forty years later and ‘Mrs. Potter’ still reminds me of my mother-in-law.”

Louise laughs. “It’s the same with people calling me Mrs. McIntyre.”

“Marriage is a wonderful thing… when it isn’t an utter trial,” Mildred jokes.

There’s an awkward pause as Louise glances sideways at Mildred.  _ Forty years, _ she marvels.

“Did you have something you wanted to ask, dear?”

“Oh.” Louise blinks. “The… the Colonel… he’s regular army, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and somehow manages to be well-respected by the boys and girls despite it,” Mildred says dryly. “Why?”

“Oh, just… I imagine he’s seen… a lot of combat.”

“All the so-called great wars, the wars to end all wars that don’t end…”

“Did you ever…” Louise regrets it before she’s even asked. “I mean… I imagine he was gone quite often.”

“Yes.”

“And you never… worried…”

“You don’t have to be delicate, dear, just ask what you want to know.”

“Did you ever… worry he’d meet someone else?” Louise asks, but gives away her hand when she glances over at John.

“Sometimes. But the only other woman he’s ever really loved is Doris Day.” Mildred laughs, shaking her head. “He thinks I don’t know, so don’t tell him.”

Louise smiles a little, but it fades back into a frown. “But…”

“A soldier would excuse it as a survival tactic… companionship to lessen the trauma,” Mildred adds. “It’s an excuse I’ve heard on every base, and in every war.”

“Does it excuse infidelity?” Louise asks.

“Louise dear, it may explain it, but there isn’t an excuse. Army wives are expected to be such frightful martyrs when it comes to other women, but the reverse is rarely true.”

Louise glances at John, who has danced with Nurse Ginger past Hawkeye, the two of them exchanging jokes as they pass, and almost asks Mildred what happens when it’s other men too. “So…”

“Dear, may I give you some advice?”

“Please.”

“Just… remember that he chose you. He may have met other people, may have done things he felt were necessary to survive… but he came home to you. He  _ chose _ to come home to you.”

“O-Oh.”

“Does that help?”

“So I just… forgive him?”

“I think that’s a question you’ve already asked yourself… and answered. And in your case, Louise,” Mildred says softly, “I’d say he’s still choosing you.”

Louise chances one last look at John, who catches her eye and grins, his smile just like Becky’s.

Until a different woman catches her eye, stopping Louise in her tracks.

* * *

“Peg,” BJ murmurs, his voice low, and she feels it rumble through him more than hears it. “Don’t look now, but I think Hawk is watching.”

“I’d suggest giving him a show,” Peg teases back, as they sway back and forth, “but there are other people around.”

“You’re a menace.”

She laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know. Is he still watching?”

“Yes.” BJ’s voice is amused. “Looking awful forlorn too.”

“I wish we could just  _ tell  _ him already,” she says, frustrated. “Stop dangling what he wants just out of reach!”

“Do you really think we’re what he wants?”

“Darling, why do you find it so hard to believe?”

“Why do you find it so easy?”

“It’s never been easy,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. “But I’ve told you before, it was  _ love.” _

“But-”

“Sometimes I think you forget I’ve been around you two,” she says, fondly exasperated. “I see the way you look at each other.”

“To be fair,” he amends. “We also both look at  _ you  _ that way.”

“I know.” She stands on her toes to kiss him as the song ends. “That makes you both pretty damn lucky- all my dances are for you.”

BJ kisses the top of her head. “Lucky is right.”

“Hiya kids, mind if I cut in?” Hawk asks, appearing right on cue.

BJ and Peg exchange a look, and then BJ passes Peg off, grinning. “She’s all yours.”

“Sounds serious,” Hawk says as BJ walks away.

“You’re lucky he trusts you.”

Hawk laughs. “Never fails to amaze me. He’ll worry about the buff handyman and the next door neighbor, but he’s never seen me as a threat.”

“A threat?”

“To your marriage.”

It takes everything in her not to tell him the truth, whisper it in his ear and leave him speechless, but instead she just smiles up at him. “Darling, I told you: he trusts you.”

“With you?”

“With our family.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Because you’re  _ ours,  _ silly,” she says, and lets him spin her around. “All ours.”

He shrugs, suddenly bashful. “If you say so.”

“I do,” she tells him, serious as any vow. “And since my word is law…”

He laughs, and Peg glows, though some part of her wishes that it was this easy- she could just tell him that she means it, and invite him in, and everything would be fine.

For now, she’ll settle for a dance.

* * *

Daniel is grinning and out of breath from dancing by the time he gets back to their table, surprised to see Sherm sitting by himself.

He’s even more surprised to see Sherm looking through the battered cardboard folio Daniel had brought with him, and the words slip out. “Some of my wife’s finer works.”

“She was a fine hand with a pencil,” Sherman says as Daniel sits down beside him. “I’m more of a painter myself.”

“Ben’s told me.”

“She had a keen eye,” Sherm comments as he flips through some of the sketches – the beach, their house in Maine, flowers – before stopping. “Oh my.”

“Ah,” Daniel says, seeing the sketch of the horses. “Those are the horses on Sable Island.”

Sherm gives him a curious look.

“Up in Canada,” Daniel explains, “where my wife is from, there’s an island full of wild horses. Off the coast of Nova Scotia.”

“And you’ve seen them?”

“Thalia had,” Daniel says softly. “A long time ago.”

“Magnificent creatures, aren’t they?”

Daniel nods. “Beautiful.”

“Lord almighty, I do miss having horses.” Sherm shakes his head. “They’re noble, dignified creatures, give you a sense of pride to own.”

“Says the cavalryman,” Daniel says with a grin. “You miss them, then?”

“Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my Sophie.” Sherm is wistful as he sets the drawing down. “You don’t suppose I couldn’t go up there and lasso myself one of these?”

Daniel laughs. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

Sherm laughs too, flipping to the next drawing, an old fishing boat. “What’s this one here?”

“Oh that’s…  _ The Luck of the Irish.” _

“And what’s the story behind this one?”

“Actually, it’s an old Pierce family legend…” Daniel grins, leaning back in his chair. “As the story goes, my little brother Kenny was out fishing, when a storm came up, took him by surprise.”

At Sherm’s look, Daniel continues, assuming the same voice he’d use to tell the story to Ben.

“He was lost and half-capsized, the winds howling in the riggings, when the boat found him-  _ The Luck of the Irish.  _ And it led him safely back to the harbor… but when he was telling his buddies about it the next day…”

“They told him the boat had broken up and sunk twenty years earlier,” Sherm finishes the story, surprising Daniel. “It was a ghost ship.”

“Ben’s told you the story.”

“Over an OR table three years ago,” Sherm says apologetically. “I’d forgotten all about it ‘til just now.”

“The story fascinated Thalia,” Daniel says, nodding to the drawing, his voice soft with nostalgia. “Myths, legends, ghost stories- she was crazy about all of it.”

“You must miss her,” Sherm says.

“Not a day goes by I don’t think of her. But having Ben helps. He reminds me so much of her, for all he claims to be like me.”

“Having seen you dance with my wife, I’m starting to see the resemblance,” Sherm says dryly, but he grins, setting down the drawing, before picking up another. “Ah. I take it, this is him?”

Daniel looks at the picture of the sleeping infant, and his heart aches for those days- but only until he hears the raucous cackle of his son, and looks up to see Hawkeye twirling Mildred around, both of them laughing. “Yup, that’s Ben.”

“Your wife’s finest work, I’ll bet.”

“Hers and mine,” Daniel says softly. “But…”

“But?”

Daniel hesitates, glancing back over at his son. “I… I worry about him, Sherm.”

“Has he had a rough time adjusting?” Sherm asks with some acuity, picking up the conversational thread.

Daniel laughs, a little bitterly. “Who wouldn’t after living through something like that?”

“What’s the trouble?” Sherm asks.

“You’ve seen combat.”

“I have.”

“Well I haven’t,” Daniel says, almost smiling. “So I’m a little out of my depth when it comes to helping my son. It’s my job, and…”

“Daniel.”

“I feel so  _ helpless.” _

_ “Daniel.” _ Sherm’s voice cuts through him. “When he talks about Korea, what do you do?”

“I listen,” Daniel says, confused.

“When he wakes up screaming?”

“I- I comfort him.”

“Then tell me this- what more can you reasonably do beyond that? Because to me it sounds like you’re doing just fine.”

This relieves him a little. “Oh.”

“And he seems remarkably well-adjusted, all things considered,” Sherm adds.

This makes Daniel smile, but it turns into a sigh. “That worries me too, thinking he’s adjusted a little  _ too  _ well.”

“Come again?”

“Sherm, I… I always knew what I was meant for,” Daniel says, by way of explanation. “I always wanted to be a family doctor, the one who knows all of his patients by name.”

“I’d say you’ve succeeded.”

Daniel smiles a little wistfully. “It wasn’t without its trials. And I practiced out of my front parlour for a few years- but this is the life I was suited for, the one I wanted. But Ben…”

“You think this isn’t what he wants.”

“I think that he was a gifted surgeon once,” Daniel says quietly.

“He happens to be one of the finest cutters I’ve ever seen operate.”

“But now he’s a small-town doctor, same as me, and those great talents… are being wasted. I can’t help but feel he’s thrown away his shot at something better.”

“Daniel…” Sherm trails off, and shakes his head. “I won’t proclaim to have some great insight on your son – I only had the raising of him for two years, after all – but maybe this is exactly what he needs.”

“How so?”

“In Korea, you never got to know your patients. It was fix ‘em up and ship ‘em out. Hawkeye used to say it was more like working in a garage than a hospital.”

“It was impersonal.”

“The worst of it was when you did get a chance to know your patient… it was ‘cause something had gone wrong, and they were sticking around a few more days. Getting to know a patient often meant you stood a chance of losing him.”

“That sounds…”

“It was hellish,” Sherm agrees. “But my point is that I think Hawkeye could do to get to know his patients without losing them. To give life instead of losing it, to  _ heal.” _

“The patients or himself?”

Sherm smiles. “You tell me.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says quietly, and it’s so damn inadequate, but it’s all he can think to say. “Really, Sherm.”

“He’ll be fine,” Sherm reassures him. “Just give it time. And maybe someday he’ll be a surgeon again, but as long as he’s happy…”

Both of them turn at the sound of Ben’s laughter, only to see him standing with the Hunnicutts at the edge of the dance floor.

“I’d say he is,” Daniel comments, not sure why he’s telling Sherm this. “And I think he’s found someone to be happy with.”

Sherm gives him a knowing smile, and Daniel remembers he’d seen two years of Ben and BJ in action, and probably is a hell of a lot more informed on  _ that  _ front. “Then that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

A sudden lump in his throat, all Daniel can do is nod, watching his son.

_ He will be happy,  _ he thinks, and it’s a relief to know.

* * *

The French doors of the ballroom are thrown open to the dusk outside, a chilly April breeze blowing in when the wind shifts now that the sun has set.

Hawkeye, taking a break from dancing, is leaning against one of the columns closest to the doors, gulping down the fresh breeze that carries in the scent of flowers from the gardens outside.

“Hawk.”

Hawkeye yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin, before realizing Trap is beside him. “Jesus, don’t  _ do  _ that.”

“I wanted to talk to ya.”

“Are you sure you should be seen with me?” Hawkeye asks, a little nervously. “You’re a married man after all, people will talk.”

“Lou is talking to the Colonel’s wife,” Trap says. “C’mon. I need a smoke.”

“Since when do you smoke?” Hawkeye asks, but he’s already following Trap outside.

“Since I stopped havin’ a still in my bedroom,” Trap says tersely, a cigarette already between his teeth.

“That’s bad for you.”

“Right, and I went to Korea for my health.”

“What is this about, Trap?”

“Told ya. Wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“I thought you were dead for five years,” Trap says bluntly, his features looking like they’re carved from ice in the faint glow coming from the ballroom. “Never counted on you bein’ alive.”

“I don’t…” And then Hawkeye remembers. “Oh.”

“You never wrote.”

“Neither did you.”

“Tried once. Letter came back ‘recipient deceased’. If you’d just bothered to remember your old best buddy, you’d ‘a saved me a lot of grief.”

Hawkeye bites his tongue, though he feels like he’s got ants crawling under his skin. “I… I was so focused on getting through to dad, I never thought…”

There’s a bitter laugh from Trap. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

There’s a pause, the tension lingering in the air with the scent of cigarette smoke.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Hawk asks after a minute, looking up at the first few stars.

“’Bout what?”

“You didn’t leave me a note.”

“Look, Hawk, I tried my best-”

“Bullshit,” Hawk says, the abandonment still stinging, a bandage pulled off the wound by degrees. “Radar said you got drunk for three days. It would’ve taken you what, ten minutes to leave a note? A real one?”

“Didn’t know what to say. I figured what I left ya said everything.”

“What it said is that I was a nice little fling, same as all the others,” Hawk says. “That hurt me, Trap.”

“And you think me thinkin’ you were dead  _ didn’t?” _

“You left me,” Hawkeye says. “Y-You left. Like I was  _ nothing.” _

Trap sighs, crushing what’s left of his cigarette under his shoe. “You were never nothing. Hawk, you… you kept me goin’ over there. I never realized how much I needed you ‘til I got back.”

“And then you didn’t need me after all, not when you had your wife back, and your nice little life in Boston.”

“Ya can’t blame me for going home.”

“No,” Hawkeye admits. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t hate you for it.”

“And now?” Trap asks.

“It’s a hell of a shock seeing you again,” Hawkeye says, skirting around the issue neatly. “More than when I realized coming home meant dad knew how many nudist magazines I subscribed to.”

“Don’t kid, Hawk, I’m serious.”

“Have you been okay?” Hawk asks instead. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nah,” Trap says, clearly suppressing a laugh. “My wife frowns upon that kinda thing.”

“I meant a therapist, dummy.”

“No, I’ve been… gettin’ by.”

“Have you?” Hawkeye asks, and a pointed silence follows.

“Lou’s been great,” Trap says at last, and from the sounds of it, he’s fumbling for another cigarette. “An’ the girls are so grown up now, Hawk. But they don’t… they don’t know about Korea, because I haven’t told them.”

Hawk feels a pang in his chest, a sudden ache, because he always thought he’d feel the same way after coming home- alone, adrift at sea without a safe harbor.

But instead, he has BJ.

Hawk’s eyes well up, and he has to swallow hard thinking both of how lucky he is, and how lonely Trap must have been. “That sounds rough.”

Trap nods. “I pushed it all away, Hawk. Everything that happened over there. Shoved it down, drowned it out with- with the booze.”

“You drink.”

“Not as much as we used to, but I’ve given my liver a lot of work since I got home. Thinkin’ you were dead didn’t help.”

Hawkeye swallows hard, a sudden fist of panic closing around his windpipe-  _ what if he has been dead all along? _

He looks down at his hands in a vain attempt to reassure himself he’s still here, because what if this has all been some elaborate purgatory?

And then he hears the sound of Peg laughing, drifting out of the ballroom on the breeze, and thinks about BJ, and the panic subsides.

BJ is real.

And that means he’s real too.

“I wish you’d tried again,” he says after a minute. “I- I always thought you’d given up on me.”

It’s too raw, his voice rough, and tears burn his eyes.

“Never,” Trap says softly. “Hawk, I- I counted on ya always bein’ there. Thinkin’ you were dead… ruined me.”

“Despite what the army said, and despite a few valiant attempts on behalf of the war, I couldn’t seem to die,” Hawk admits. “Sometimes I thought I wanted to. But I- I really just wanted to go home.”

“Sometimes I don’t think home ever stopped bein’ that crummy canvas tent with a dartboard on the door.”

“So where does that leave us?” Hawkeye asks, both longing for and fearing the answer.

“Well, I walked in today and saw ya… and it was like I’d remembered how to take a deep breath again,” Trap says quietly.

Hawk blinks. “Trap…”

“An’… I spent five years thinking about how if I’d known it was the last thing I’d ever say to ya, I’d… I’d have just left the damn note.”

Hawk swallows hard. “And what would you have said?”

Trap turns and looks at him. “I’d have told you that I wouldn’t have survived Korea without you.”

“Oh.”

“That you made a year of my life that woulda been hell at least tolerable and sometimes even  _ fun.  _ That even if it meant staying in Korea, I’d do it all over again.”

“Trap.”

Trap steps closer, smiling at him as he drops his second cigarette to the ground, and Hawk can smell his old aftershave under the acrid smoke, making his heart do a few extra laps of his chest.

Trap’s voice is almost a whisper. “I’d have said you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I don’t know anyone else I loved the way I loved you, Hawkeye Pierce.”

“John,” Hawk breathes.

And then before he can say anything else, Trap is leaning down, gently cupping Hawk’s face in his hands. And then his mouth is on Hawkeye’s, a bittersweet parting of a kiss, and Hawkeye is too stunned to even kiss him back, to even think about Louise- but he thinks of BJ and Peg, and goes still.

Trap clearly notices, because he pulls away, letting go of Hawk and giving him a bitter smile. “… Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

Hawk smiles up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re such a doctor, Trap.”

“How’s that?”

“You never want to call time.”

Trap laughs, a little, and Hawk is relieved to see he’s not offended. “What can I say, Hawk? I’ve always been a sucker for lost causes.”

“It’s okay, Trap. You belong with Louise,” Hawkeye tells him, letting his hand fall, and then straightening Trap’s collar.

“And who do you belong with?”

Hawkeye doesn’t answer, though he thinks of BJ’s smile, of Peg’s laugh, of Erin holding his hand- and he  _ knows. _ “Don’t worry about me.”

“Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

Trap gives him a smile. “You’re still always gonna be my best friend.”

“And you’re always gonna be mine,” Hawk replies, taking his hand and squeezing it, feeling ten pounds lighter. “And Trap?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the note.”

* * *

It takes a good three minutes of searching to find BJ, alone in a corner and staring moodily into a glass of water.

His frown is broody, intense, his brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down with displeasure, and it almost makes her laugh- it’s the same look Erin gets when she’s in a mood.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, collapsing into a seat beside him, her feet aching.

He looks up at her, and then blinks like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“BJ?” she prompts.

“I’m an idiot.”

“And how exactly did you come to  _ that  _ conclusion, darling?” she teases gently, already having some inkling.

“Look.” His voice is dark, as he nods behind her.

She turns to see Hawkeye and Trapper John slip out the doors into the gardens, and the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “Ah.”

“I never should’ve invited him,” BJ says, shaking his head. “I’ve created a monster.”

“The hell you have.”

“Peggy, I… I _ saw  _ the way they were looking at each other.”

“You saw what you expected to see.”

BJ’s mouth twists into a bitter smile. “And now instead of us, Hawk is out there making up for lost time with Trapper right now-”

“Bullshit,” she says succinctly. “They haven’t seen each other in five years, BJ.”

“He still loves him.”

“So?”

_ “So,”  _ BJ says heavily, “You don’t know what it’s like to always come in second place to Trapper John. You  _ said  _ it wasn’t a race but he’s the one winning!”

“Jesus  _ Christ,  _ you’re impossible!”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really so insecure that you think Hawkeye, who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon for him, is just going to up and leave you for an old flame?”

The two of them glare at each other for a second, and then BJ shakes his head again, looking away. “I’m a jealous guy, Peggy.”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“What?”

“What it’s like to love you. You worry about the handyman and the next door neighbor and you forget that I  _ laughed  _ when Clark hit on me, because I had  _ you.  _ Nobody compares to you.”

“Except maybe Trapper John,” BJ says, deliberately ignoring her compliment.

“Hawkeye loves  _ you,  _ you idiot,” she says back, fondly exasperated. “You  _ know  _ that.”

“But just- what can  _ we  _ give him that Trapper can’t?”

“It isn’t like that. He brought his wife!”

“So did I!” BJ shoots back.

“Yeah, well, I’m a willing accomplice.” She laughs, which seems to deflate some of his anger. She’s gotten used to the sudden bursts of temper and has become an expert barometer when it comes to BJ’s moods, but it doesn’t mean she’ll just sit and take them either.

“But Peg-”

“We made our choice, darling, for better or worse,” she tells him softly. “And now it’s up to him to make his.”

* * *

The ballroom is a little too warm, even with the doors thrown open to the evening air, and Louise is starting to feel a little lightheaded.

(She doesn’t suppose watching her husband drag Hawkeye Pierce into the gardens is helping matters).

She steps outside, half in shadow on the terrace, welcoming the cool breeze on her flushed cheeks, her heart pounding as she waits.

Then she feels, more than sees, a body next to her.

And then, a voice, the first notes of a symphony.

“B-Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Honoria Winchester asks softly.

Louise turns so fast she nearly falls over.

It takes her breath away, how beautiful Honoria is, her gaze piercing, somehow more intimidating than she was at seventeen, dressed in what’s probably one of her brother’s cast-off suits, her blonde hair a messy halo that shimmers in the light from the ballroom.

“It’s you,” she breathes, holding out a hand, like she expects Honoria to fade when she touches her. But the lapel of her suit under Louise’s fingers is real and surprisingly soft.

Honoria smiles. “It’s m-me.”

Louise wraps her arms around herself as the breeze picks up, shivering a little, but she isn’t focused on the cold. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“It’s a h-hell of a shock f-for me too,” Honoria says with a bit of a laugh, before giving Louise an appreciative look. “Y-You look good, Lou.”

Louise smiles. “You’re not too unkempt yourself. What are you doing here?”

“C-Chaperoning my b-brother and his fiancée,” Honoria explains. “He’s a s-surgeon. W-What about you?”

“I’m here with my husband,” Louise says, but all thoughts of John have fled.

Surprise registers on Honoria’s face. “Y-You’re married?”

“Yes. John and I got married a few years after… well. After you left for Radcliffe.”

“It’s b-been a long t-time.”

“It has.” Louise takes a deep breath. “I missed you, Norie.”

“I m-missed you too…” Honoria gives her a look. “Y-Your husband. He’s g-good to you?”

Louise hesitates. “Oh, he’s… he’s wonderful.”

“G-Good. Because if h-he isn’t…” Honoria makes a gesture that promises menace, and Louise laughs.

“He’s wonderful,” Louise assures her. “And a devoted father.”

A smile blossoms. “Y-You have kids?”

“Two,” Louise passes over the photo. “This is our eldest.”

“Louise, she’s… she’s b-beautiful.”

“I named her Elizabeth Honoria,” Louise says, almost casually, and Honoria freezes.

“W-What?”

“Elizabeth Honoria. Becky for short. She’s named after you… of course.”

Honoria is pink in the dim light, and Louise looks away for a second while she wipes her eyes. “S-She looks like y-you, Louise. Absolutely g-gorgeous.”

“Are you alright?”

Honoria sniffs, a watery laugh slipping out. “I-I thought you’d f-forgotten all about m-me.”

“No, never,” Louise tells her. “Who could ever forget you?”

“I- I t-thought-”

“Unthink it,” Louise tells her firmly. “Anyone who forgets you would have to be utterly deranged.”

“Utterly deranged.” Honoria giggles through her tears. “I’d f-forgotten that.”

“What?”

“Y-You and your b-big words.”

Louise giggles too, unable to help herself, and then they’re laughing together, as though no time at all has passed, like they’re still just two girls on the roof of the carriage shed.

But no, they’ve grown up, both of them. 

And Honoria, Louise thinks, is gorgeous.

“Honoria?”

“Yes?”

“Will you dance with me?”

Honoria blushes. “W-What?”

Louise gestures back towards the ballroom, where a sweet melancholy song is drifting out on the breeze, wrapping around them, enticing them into an embrace. “Dance with me, Honoria.”

And Honoria swallows hard, smiles, and nods, holding out a hand to Louise, who steps forward to meet her.

Louise feels like she’s floating, wrapped in Honoria’s arms under a brilliantly starry sky, as though they’d never parted ways, the song bittersweet, filling her with longing to stay in this moment.

“Louise?” Honoria whispers, as they sway back and forth, hearts beating together.

“Yes?”

“N-Never forgot y-you either.”

Louise closes her eyes against a sheen of tears, smiling into Honoria’s shoulder, as close as they’ll ever be, like no time at all has passed.

Even if it’s just for this one dance, this one night, this one bittersweet moment, a window into the past.

The song ends inside, and Louise stays where she is a moment longer, feeling safe, before lifting her head to look up at Honoria, who is smiling back down at her with unspeakable tenderness.

And then she’s brushing her thumb over Louise’s cheekbone as she leans down to kiss her, her lips gentle, eager,  _ skilled,  _ so unlike that first kiss on the roof of the carriage shed all those years ago but no less bittersweet.

It’s old and it’s new, and it tastes like happiness, a memory of a life they could have lived. It doesn’t feel like infidelity, it just feels like a reminder:  _ you can make your own happiness. _

Honoria pulls away all too soon, her thumb still on Louise’s cheek, gentle, like a butterfly’s wing. “Louise?”

“Yes?”

Honoria smiles. “Don’t f-forget.”

“I won’t,” Louise breathes.

Honoria wraps her jacket around Louise’s shoulders, kisses her on the forehead in benediction, and goes back in, leaving Louise’s head spinning.

* * *

“Ooh,” Peg says as she sits down, wincing as she slides her shoes off.

“Feet hurt?” Hawk asks sympathetically. He’s grinning at her, and ever since he came back in, he’s seemed different,  _ settled  _ almost.

“I feel like I did the Charleston with a Volkswagen,” she says, swinging her feet up to rest on the edge of Hawkeye’s chair.  _ “And  _ I’m starving.”

“The food does leave something to be desired,” Hawk says.

“If I see one more fussy little finger sandwich I’m gonna scream.”

“We could start a riot?” Hawk says, his mouth twitching.

“Oh?”

“Demand something…” Hawk’s face changes into a deceptively pensive one- the kind of look Peg knows well enough now to signify trouble is brewing, “something else.”

“What?” BJ asks, catching the look.

“I’m just about to be brilliant,” Hawk proclaims.

“Is this brilliance going to get us in legal trouble?” Peg asks. “I can only afford bail for one of you.”

Hawkeye laughs. “Just find me a phone.”

“Are you going to explain, or leave us in the dark?”

“Allow me to illuminate,” Hawkeye says, grinning. “Ribs.”

Peg watches BJ’s face split into a grin, as what Hawkeye is suggesting clicks. “There’s a payphone in the lobby.”

Hawkeye bounces to his feet, already heading for the door, waxing poetic, “And then God took a rib from Adam… to make dinner.”

“Amen,” Peg says, shaking her head as she laughs.

BJ kisses her before following Hawkeye out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello,  
> I know it's been a few weeks, and for that, I apologize. I got caught up in two different jobs, and caught writer's block, but I'm back (hopefully until the end), with a loooong one.  
> The next few updates may be a bit erratic as I try and get back into the groove, but rest assured, the story will be completed.  
> Thank you to everyone for sticking it out thus far, for the hits and the kudos, the bookmarks and comments- you inspire this weary writer to push ever onward. ♥


	15. The Reunion (Part IV)

The ballroom is in chaos, the chairs shoved to the side, the sound of tables scraping across the floor echoing through the room as they’re pushed together.

Erin has her hands pressed over her ears, a pout on her face, and she’s getting too big for it, but Peg picks her up anyway.

“Think you can manage without me for a few minutes?” she practically bellows to Daniel, who’s taking a break.

He swipes at his brow with his hand, frowning in concentration.

“I thought I’d take Erin upstairs,” she says with a grin. “Party dresses and ribs don’t mix.”

He laughs, and waves her off. “Go ahead, the boys will be back soon.”

“You sure?”

“Go, before they press you into service!” She laughs too, and is halfway through the door when he calls out. “Peg?”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t mind bringing these upstairs, would you?” he asks, holding out a battered folio. “The door between our rooms should be open.”

“Sure.”

“Just put them on the desk,” he says. “And don’t hurry back.”

She takes the folio from him, and hurries out, relieved when the cool air of the lobby hits her face.

“Alright baby, ride’s over,” she says, setting Erin down and taking her hand.

“Mommy, where did Daddy and Uncle Hawkee go?”

“They went to get everyone dinner.”

“Okay.” Erin nods, and then frowns. “What  _ is  _ dinner?”

“Ribs.”

“What are ribs?”

“They’re… they’re meat,” Peg explains. “Like chicken wings, only rib bones.”

Erin’s frown deepens. “But  _ I  _ have ribs.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we’re not eating yours,” Peg says, trying not to laugh as she pokes Erin in the belly, making her giggle. “Can’t have you falling apart.”

“Are ribs yummy?”

“According to your uncle Hawkee, they’re heaven on Earth.”

Erin considers this, as they wait for the elevator, looking so much like her father that it makes Peg’s heart ache to see.

And then she grins. “Would they have served them on the  _ Titanic?” _

Peg looks down at her, and grins back. “Not a chance.”

“Then no thank you.”

“Turn up your nose all you want, little miss, but that’s what dinner is. You want dinner, right?”

“I’m hungry,” Erin says by way of an answer.

“You’re always hungry,” Peg says, poking her in the nose.

“Yeah, but  _ this time…  _ this time I  _ mean _ it.”

“Then you’re gonna have to like the ribs.”

“Maybe I’ll skip them!” Erin says cheerfully, “and go  _ right  _ to dessert!”

“Oh I don’t think so, baby.”

“Why not?”

“Because even on the  _ Titanic,  _ the little girls had to eat their dinner before they’d serve dessert.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Peg explains, “rich people have different courses at dinner. Usually five, and dessert is the last one.”

“So?”

“So, baby, they don’t serve the next course until the one before is finished.”

“… I could like the ribs.”

Peg grins to herself. “I knew you’d see my way of thinking.”

She lets go of Erin’s hand briefly, to unlock their hotel room. But even as she walks in, Erin is hesitating in the doorway.

“Erin?”

“Mommy, did I do something wrong?” Erin’s voice is small, and Peg is flabbergasted.

“What?”

“We left the party…” Erin looks down at her hands. “Was it my fault?”

“Oh, baby,  _ no,  _ no,” Peg says, kneeling down. “Sweetie, no.”

“Then why?”

“Because, baby, ribs are really messy, and I don’t want you getting your dress messy.”

“I’m not  _ messy!  _ I’m not a baby!”

“I know that.” Peg tries to conceal a laugh, albeit a guilty one. “I know, baby, but ribs are really saucy, so I figured you could wear something else.”

This earns her a sly look. “Overalls?”

Peg nods.

“Yay!”

“Go and find them for me, and pick out a shirt to wear too, okay?”

Erin nods, and hurries over to her suitcase, digging through it, before returning with her overalls and a striped shirt. “Got ‘em!”

“Perfect. Do you think you can put them on while I put something away for Grandpa Danny?”

Erin nods.

“Alright, arms up.” Erin lifts her arms, and Peg tugs the dress over her head. “Ally-oop! There you go.”

Erin runs into the bathroom, giggling.

“Go pee while you’re in there!” Peg manages to call before the door slams shut.

She shakes her head to herself as she opens the door to the Pierces’ room, unable to keep from feeling like an intruder.

It’s silent as a tomb, both beds neatly made, the room heavy with the smell of Hawkeye’s cologne. A towel hangs over the back of a desk chair from a recent shower, and the sight makes her smile.

She goes to set the folio down on the table, when one of the drawings flutters out.

“Damn it.”

She bends to pick it up, when she notices the writing on the back.

At first, her brain registers it as Hawkeye’s – and she would know, having an entire shoebox of his letters sitting under her bed at home, right next to a box of BJ’s – and then she remembers.

Kneeling on the floor, clutching a dead woman’s drawings, she’s hit with a wave of love for the spiky handwriting Hawkeye has inherited from his mother, and for Hawkeye himself.

“I’m so gone on you,” she whispers to herself, before flipping it over.

It’s a drawing of a toddler, his eyes wide as he reaches for something the artist hasn’t drawn, and Peg knows him on sight.

But she still flips it back over, so focused on the handwriting she hadn’t even read the words, and there it is:  _ Our Ben is a charmer! 1921, T.G.P. _

She should put it away, she knows it, but this glimpse of Hawkeye as a baby is so unfamiliar as to be savoured. She has a rare photo of BJ as a baby, has copious shots of Erin, and now one of Hawkeye.

She folds it up and tucks it into her purse, standing back up.

“I’ll take good care of him,” she whispers to the empty room, not sure if she’s promising Thalia, or Daniel, or both.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Time to go?” Erin asks from the doorway, holding out a hand.

“Yeah, baby, time to go.”

Hand in hand, they head back downstairs.

* * *

Adam’s Ribs is a loud, dimly-lit establishment, full of laughing patrons, cheerful music, and a mouthwatering smell.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Hawkeye asks BJ, grinning, the two of them sitting at the bar, waiting for their order.

“Tell me what?”

Hawkeye holds out his arms. “Heaven on earth.”

BJ isn’t so sure, because even in this smoky so-called paradise, Hawkeye is still jittery and distant. “Sure thing, Hawk.”

“They all thought I was crazy, y’know,” Hawk says absentmindedly, running his finger along the rim of his martini. “Ordering barbecue in the middle of a war.”

“Not crazy,” BJ says, reaching out to touch his hand, his voice low. “Just homesick.”

Hawkeye smiles a little, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and goes back to fiddling with his glass.

“Did you have a nice conversation with Trapper?” BJ asks, trying to keep his voice light.

Hawk’s head jerks up at this. “Huh?”

“I saw you two head outside, so I- I figured you must’ve been… catching up.”

Hawk’s mouth twists into a half-smile. “We had a lot to catch up on.”

“I’ll bet.” This time he can’t keep the sharp edge from his voice, even if he hates himself for it.

Hawk outright laughs, his cheeks flushed in the dim.

“What?”

“You’re cute,” Hawkeye says, nudging BJ’s leg with his own, and for all BJ knows, they could be back in Tokyo, chasing the Korean dust in their throats with rotgut. “Really, Beej, I thought you’d know better.”

“How do you mean?”

Hawkeye simply shakes his head again, chuckling to himself. “I guess I’m just not used to it.”

“To  _ what?”  _ BJ demands, but Hawkeye doesn’t explain further.

“Thank you,” he says instead, giving BJ a smile.

“Y-You’re welcome.” BJ frowns. “… Why are you thanking me?”

“Because,” Hawkeye says with a self-deprecating shrug. “You made me do something I was too afraid to do myself.”

“How do you mean?”

“Dr. Bright – my therapist – keeps telling me I need to… to move on. Closure, she calls it. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it, Beej. Couldn’t write the letter, couldn’t pick up the phone and call…”

“And I flubbed it up nicely by inviting him.”

“And they all said you were smart.” Hawk punctuates the insult with a fond shake of his head. “You invited him, dummy.”

“I just…” BJ wants to protest that it’s not as noble as Hawk makes it sound, that  _ yes,  _ he did it for Hawk, but it’s not like that, not really.

Hawk ignores his hesitation, simply holds up his glass and smiles. “Seems I’m never gonna stop finding reasons to thank you, huh Beej?”

It twists BJ’s heart to think of this, Hawk toasting BJ with Trap’s name on his lips, the way he did at Kimpo all those years ago.

“I just…” he says again.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Because…”  _ I love you.  _ “You’re my best friend, Hawk.”

Hawk nods, and then gently clinks his glass to BJ’s, his smile faded into something bittersweet, and BJ gets a sinking feeling he’s given the wrong answer. “I guess that’s something.”

“More than something,” BJ says, and  _ God,  _ he’s doing this all wrong-

“Order of ribs for Pierce!”

Hawkeye downs his martini, and shoots BJ a familiar grin. “The word of the Lord.”

“Uh huh.”

They hurry over to where the waiter is waiting, accompanied by another waiter, both holding several large cardboard cartons.

“And you’re sure,” Hawkeye is saying to one of them, “that there’s coleslaw in here? I forgot it last time.”

“Yes, Dr. Pierce, there’s plenty of coleslaw.”

“Perfect. You’re doing God’s work here,” Hawkeye says, tucking a generous tip into his pocket, before handing two of the cartons to BJ and taking the rest himself. “Here, I’ll grab us a cab.”

Outside, under a streetlight, waiting for a cab, BJ says to Hawkeye, “You should’ve told them who you were.”

Hawk cackles, shaking his head. “No autographs, please.”

“I mean it, Hawk.”

Hawkeye gives another little self-deprecating shrug, and a grin. “I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.”

He manages to flag down a cab, almost dropping several boxes in the process, and it’s not until they’re situated inside that BJ realizes why it bothers him.

“You gave them something,” he says out loud, and continues when Hawk shoots him a puzzled look. “Whoever was working there when you ordered those ribs the first time. You gave them a story to tell.”

“And?”

BJ’s throat is tight. “You really don’t get it huh? What it is you do for people?”

“I gave life once,” Hawkeye says softly, his profile briefly lit up as they pass under a streetlight.

“You still do.”

He doesn’t just mean in surgery.

Hawkeye gives everything of himself and always has, bleeds himself dry to give others life, lets the darkness eat him up inside to make others laugh, and  _ God,  _ the way he doesn’t hold anything back scares BJ, and awes him, and only makes him love Hawkeye more.

They’re surrounded by an awkward silence- and ribs. As they pull up in front of the hotel, Hawkeye says, a little too cheerfully, “Now I know how Moses felt.”

“Huh?”

“Well,” Hawkeye says, gesturing to BJ’s cartons. “How do we know the Ten Commandments wasn’t a takeout menu?”

“You’re crazy,” BJ says fondly, and Hawkeye laughs.

“Time to feed the five thousand.”

* * *

_ “Attencione,  _ folks!  _ Attencione!”  _ Sherm calls over the hubbub, delighting just a bit in the set up.

All the tables have been pushed together to form one, glasses of champagne sparkling under the lights, the doors still thrown open to the spring breeze, and to complete the scene: serving platters heaped with a mouthwatering array of barbecue and coleslaw.

“Shut it!” Radar bellows from further down the table, where he’s sitting with Colonel Blake’s wife.

This quiets everyone down, but causes an outbreak of giggles.

“I’m sure you’re all eager to chow down on this fine feast, but first, if you’ll indulge an old man, we ought to give thanks. Padre?”

Father Mulcahy stands.

“The floor is yours.”

Mulcahy, his brow furrowed, nods, before clearing his throat. “Dear Lord.”

“Dear lord,” Bigelow calls out, and Sherm has to smother a smile, before signaling to her to can it.

“Dear Lord,” Mulcahy repeats, grinning a little. “We thank you for this wonderful food, and for bringing us all together again.”

Sherm, though his eyes should be closed in reverence, is watching everyone with fondness.

Three years and they’re still his people, his family.

“Thank you for bringing us together to do your work, and for strengthening the bonds that hold us together.”

Sherm smiles to himself.

“And thank you for peace,” Father Mulcahy says, before turning to his audience. “I think that about does it, don’t you?”

This time he laughs along with them.

“Alright everybody, all together. Amen.”

“Amen!”

The next few minutes dissolve into chaos as food is passed back and forth, up and down the table, miraculously without any being dropped in anyone’s lap or any champagne glasses being knocked over.

Sherm gives his own private thanks as he tucks in, conversations starting up again, grateful because the scenery and the food may have changed, but he still has everything he needs right here in his company.

* * *

Hawkeye’s eyes are wide, his plate piled high with ribs and a heaping mountain of coleslaw, but unlike everyone else already digging in, he’s just sitting there watching it.

Finally, he picks one up, and BJ expects him to sniff it, but he doesn’t, just holds the rib in front of his mouth, hesitating.

“What are you doing, Hawk?” BJ asks. “Waiting for the angel chorus?”

And Trapper, sitting beside Hawkeye, grins a little. “He’s making sure we won’t be interrupted.”

“Huh?”

“Last time,” Trap explains, “In Korea. We were just sitting down to our little feast when the choppers came in.”

“Oh, poor Hawkeye,” Peg says, her voice sympathetic.

“Uh huh.”

And then as they watch expectantly, Hawkeye bites down on the rib, getting a fair amount of sauce on his face, his expression melting into one of bliss.

BJ smiles into his champagne. “Well?”

“Nirvana,” Hawk says dreamily, making them all laugh. “This is better than sex.”

“Either these are really good or you’re not having the right kind of sex,” Peg says, covering Erin’s ears.

“What, mommy, what?” Erin asks, swatting at her mother’s hand, covered in barbecue sauce herself.

“Nothing, baby,” Peg says, uncovering her ears. “What do you think of the ribs?”

Erin gives her a saucy grin. “They’re really yummy.”

“She’s got taste,” Hawkeye says, emerging from his coleslaw. “Unlike her father.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“Jell-O and bologna?” Hawkeye asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That-”

“Was a pregnancy craving,” Peg finishes BJ’s sentence. “It was my fault.”

“Of course,” Hawkeye says with a grin. “You  _ would  _ have discerning taste, even when it comes to cravings.”

Peg shrugs, but she’s grinning, nudging BJ’s foot under the table with her own, and BJ grins too, hiding a laugh in his champagne.

“Jell-O and bologna?” Trap asks, looking mildly revolted.

“John,” Louise says from beside him, “that’s nothing. I’d eat sardines and strawberry ice cream.”

Peg laughs. “And we thought it would be easier once they got here.”

“Are you gonna eat your ribs or what?” Hawkeye asks. “Because if you don’t, Erin and I will, right Erin?”

“Uh huh!”

“Wonderful,” Peg says, with a theatrical groan. “I have so much to look forward to, with you two ganging up on me.”

“Get used to it,” BJ says with a grin.

“What can I say, I have a way with kids.”

“Probably because you never stopped  _ being _ one, Pierce,” Charles calls down the table, making everyone laugh.

Hawkeye cackles, “You’re in no position to get saucy with me, Charles.”

Charles is indeed covered in sauce.

“Aren’t you going to get a picture, Donna?” BJ asks. “It’s not every day we see Charles here humbled.”

“Nonsense, Hunnicutt,” Charles says, “It is important to  _ remain  _ humble by dining with the peasants.”

“Hold that thought darling, and say ‘coleslaw’,” Donna suggests, taking a picture as everyone laughs.

“The things I do for you people…” Charles mutters, but he’s smiling as he swipes at his face with a napkin, getting most - but not all - of the sauce.

“Darling?” Donna asks.

“Yes?”

She leans in to kiss his sauce-covered cheek. “You missed a spot.”

* * *

“I generally find Shaw’s work a bit… tepid,” Charles is explaining to Steve, “but I did rather enjoy  _ Pygmalion.” _

_ “Pygmalion  _ was good,” Steve agrees. “You know they made a musical of it?  _ My Fair Girl  _ or something like that?”

_ “My Fair Lady.” _

Charles smiles. “And it would be hard not to know, considering we’ve seen it.”

“On Broadway,” Donna adds, as Steve raises an eyebrow. “It was  _ wonderful.” _

“And there was this charming young British actress playing Eliza,” Charles explains. “God, what was her  _ name?” _

“She was good?”

“She was  _ magnificent,  _ absolutely radiant, a commanding presence. And her  _ voice…” _

“I think Chuck had a bit of a crush on her,” Donna says, her eyes twinkling. “But I can hardly blame him.”

“Not you, too.”

“Oh, Steve, she was  _ electric.” _

“I predict great things for that young lady,” Charles says, smiling fondly in remembrance, before slapping his palm on the table. “I’ve got it!”

“You remembered?”

“Julie Andrews,” Charles says, still smiling to himself. “Had the voice of an angel.”

Donna can’t help smiling to herself. 

Symphonies, orchestras, operas, they were all too much, so Donna and Charles have started frequenting other theatres.

“If they ever make a film of it, I shall personally find the director and petition him to cast her,” Charles continues.

“You have that kind of influence?”

Charles gives him a look. “I have that kind of money.”

“You know,” Donna says, distracted, “it’s quite sad, all the movies we missed while we were away.”

“A little sad, but hey, it can’t be too bad,” Steve shrugs. “The world didn’t stop while we were gone, y’know?”

“Quite the philosopher,” Charles comments, making Steve smile. “You’re an optimist, Doctor.”

“Well none of us is perfect.”

“I mean it. If only we could all see the world as you do.”

Steve only grins back. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

* * *

“Listen, listen, none of you were here when Hawk first got to this sewer – only two weeks after I did – an’ he just walked off that plane in that  _ stupid  _ hat-”

“Hat?” BJ inquires, making John laugh harder.

“This ridiculous… goddamn upside-down bucket. Looked  _ terrible.  _ Burned it the first chance I got. _ ” _

“I  _ wondered  _ what happened to that hat, you  _ fink!” _

Louise sips her champagne, watching them laughing together, and is almost grateful for the relaxed atmosphere.

She’s seen the way BJ looks at her husband, the way he somehow regards John as an enemy, for reasons she can only guess.

“An’ it gets better,” John says, still laughing.

“Aw, Trap, you’re embarrassing me-“

“When he got here, he kept callin’ everyone  _ babe  _ or  _ baby,”  _ John says, shaking his head. “Was the cutest thing.”

Hawkeye buries his face in his hands, making John and BJ and Peggy laugh harder.

“Frank and I broke him of the habit, but I’ll never forget him walking across the tarmac - I was the lucky guy who go to meet him first – and all he said was ‘what’s happenin’, baby?’”

“The first thing he said?” Peggy wheezes.

John nods, flushed with laughter. “Uh huh, and I just  _ knew,  _ right then and there, that this was the guy who’d get me through.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you’d blab all my secrets,” Hawkeye says, emerging from the sanctuary of his hands.

“Face it, Hawk,” BJ says fondly. “You’re irreplaceable.”

“He did make me quit smoking, but I’ve forgiven him,” John says, grinning.

“And you’ll notice,” Hawk says back, tugging a cigarette from John’s pocket, “it didn’t stick.”

Louise, watching John snatch his cigarette back, laughing, his glass of champagne untouched, wonders if she hasn’t been a total doormat.

She could’ve challenged him about the drinking before now, before tonight, but she  _ didn’t. _

“It’s gonna be on my tombstone, isn’t it?” Hawkeye asks reluctantly. “’The guy who gets you through?’”

“Darling, there are worse things,” Peggy says, laughing.

“John, are you going to have any of this?” Louise cuts in.

“Huh?” John looks at her, and the champagne, his eyes clear of ghosts, and then smiles a bit sheepishly. “No, honey, I’m good.”

She should feel relieved by this, but she doesn’t.

Hawkeye grins wickedly. “Did I ever tell you about that time we handcuffed ourselves together?”

“You  _ what?”  _ BJ asks.

“Well,” Hawkeye says, delighted. “It all started because we wanted to raffle off a nurse… and being such an arresting figure-”

“You’re an idiot,” John cuts him off. “It started because we wanted to send our house boy to college.”

“You tell it then!”

“Okay, I will!”

Watching them, Louise’s sinking feeling only grows.

* * *

“I don’t care how maudlin Hemingway gets on the subject,” Sherm says to Max, a bit sternly, “babies don’t need shoes. They ain’t runnin’ anywhere.”

Max frowns. “But those Ohio winters are awfully chilly.”

“That’s what socks are for,” Peggy adds. “Baby shoes are a waste of money.”

Seong-jae, the reason for the conversation, is fast asleep in Soon-Lee’s arms.

“What else?”

“If he’s got a favourite toy, don’t get rid of it,” Sherm advises. “And don’t worry about bein’ attached to it, he’ll grow out of it when he’s good and ready.”

“Sometimes it takes a little longer,” Hawkeye adds. “I mean look at Radar and his teddy.”

Max nods, but Soon-Lee pipes up. “What about teething?”

“Frozen washcloths,” Peggy says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you run it under the tap and then freeze it,” she explains. “It lets them chew on something cold.”

“And it works?”

“Trust me, I probably wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t,” Peg says, smiling a little. “Erin and I were at our wits’ end when I thought of it. Erin especially, poor little thing.”

“Frozen bananas work too,” John adds, his voice quieter. “At least, that’s what we used for my girls.”

“Should I be taking notes?” Max asks.

“Hey, this isn’t one of Henry’s lectures, do whatever you want.”

“Talk to him,” Peg says. “Narrate everything to him. Babies make surprisingly good listeners.”

“You’d know,” BJ says, touching her hand, making her smile.

It hurts that he can’t offer baby advice the way she can, that most of his parenting knowledge is long-distance, stretched thin over phone wires, lost in letters a week or two out of date.

_ There’s always the next one,  _ he thinks to himself.

“When he’s older, if he gets hurt, which he will like most kids, don’t overreact,” he says, relieved to have an area of expertise. “He’s gonna see how you’re reacting, and if you’re upset, he’ll get upset too.”

“That’s very insightful.”

“Works wonders with Erin. Making them laugh helps too.”

“Read to them,” Daniel says with a grin at Hawkeye, who grins back. “If there’s any advice I could give, it’s that. Reading has never made anyone poorer in mind or spirit.”

“Gee,” Soon-Lee says, “Where were all of you when he was born?”

“Hindsight is 20/20.” Peg shrugs. “Parenting just means finding new ways to make old mistakes.”

“Very reassuring.”

“But,” Peg says, looking at Erin, who’s currently charming the hell out of Margaret, “it’s a privilege most of us wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“Amen,” Daniel says softly.

* * *

“So tell us, Major,” Kellye says, leaning on her elbows, trying to catch Margaret’s eye. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

“Mmm.” Margaret isn’t listening – or at least she’s doing a good job of feigning it – as she braids Erin Hunnicutt’s hair.

“C’mon,” Bigelow adds, “You can tell us.”

“Oh,” Margaret laughs. “No, I don’t think so.”

“So you are?”

“I’m  _ not.  _ Besides,” she says, ignoring the sting, and trying not to look at Honoria Winchester. “I haven’t the time for dalliances, you know that.”

“So there’s no eligible men we can set you up with here?” Kellye asks.

Margaret sighs, and looks up at them. “I don’t think there are many options.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Who is it?”

Kellye’s glance down the table at the rest of the staff gives it away.

“No.”

“Hear us out.”

“You two had… sparks.”

“Sparks,” Margaret repeats, unimpressed. “You’re joking.”

“Pizzazz?” Judy Able suggests, her mouth twitching.

“Look, girls, regardless of anything in the past between Dr. Pierce and myself-“

“Ha!” Bigelow smacks the table to the tune of the other nurses groaning. “Cough up.”

“What’s going on?”

“We had a pool,” Kellye explains, blushing. “In Korea.”

“Betting on what?”

“You and Hawkeye. Everyone could see it.”

“We could see it too,” Margaret says dryly. “But it didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Erin, honey, why don’t you go back to your parents,” Margaret says, and Erin nods.

“I’m pretty, right?”

“Yes.”

Erin gives her a grin, conspicuously missing a front tooth. “Just like you?”

She has to duck her head, concealing her emotions. “Just like me.”

She takes a second to compose herself, before turning back to the nurses.

“Well?”

“Look, girls, I love Hawkeye, but not how you think. He’ll always be a dear friend, but we just aren’t meant for each other… like that.”

The nurses shrug, and then Bigelow, bless her, just says, “Well, we tried.”

“I wouldn’t try again if I were you.”

“Where are you working now?” Shari asks. “Fort Bragg, right?”

“Yes,” Margaret says, “and it’s a dream. In fact… I’ve got some good news to share with all of you.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to be made head surgical nurse…  _ and  _ I’m up for promotion.”

“You mean-“

Margaret smiles. “If all goes well, I’ll be a Lieutenant Colonel soon.”

“Oh Major, that’s wonderful!” Kellye says.

“I wouldn’t settle for it,” Bigelow advises. “Shoot for Colonel at least.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll be the first army nurse to make general.”

“That’s for sure!”

Margaret basks in the attention a few minutes more before turning to Baker. “And Mickey, I hear you’re in delivery now?”

Baker grins. “At the moment.”

“Changing specialties again?” Able asks.

“Well…” Baker turns a rosy shade of pink. “I’ll have my own delivery to make before long.”

“Oh my god!”

The nurses start hugging Baker, still pink in the face, and shooting conspiratorial looks over at Tony, who’s playing a round of poker with Roy and Dennis, their plates shoved aside.

“That’s wonderful, Mickey, I’m sure you’ll make a great mother.”

Mickey flutters her eyelashes. “I’ll be modelling my strict voice after you, I hope you don’t mind?”

This makes Margaret laugh. “I’d be honored.”

* * *

“Forgive an old man his curiosity,” Sherm says, refilling Donna’s champagne glass, “but how is it you came to be at our reunion, Donna?”

“What?”

“Not that I’m not tickled pink to see you here – I enjoyed how you made Winchester a mite more mellow when you came to visit – but this is technically a reunion for the four-oh-double-seven.”

“Which I’m not,” she says with a grin.

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“Oh, I’m…” She blushes. “I’m here with Chuck. I- I mean Charles. Winchester. And his sister.”

Max, overhearing this, says indignantly, “That’s not the only reason!”

“No?”

“If Charles hadn’t invited her, we would have,” Max adds, grinning at her.

“I’m a bit lost, son, you wanna draw me a map?”

“She helped us,” Soon-Lee says.

“Oh?”

“Well.” Donna blushes at the attention. “It’s a bit of a long story. You remember I was in the Red Cross, during the war...”

He nods.

“Well, the country was such a mess, I stayed on after the armistice, trying to help pick up the pieces. And that… led me to Max and Soon-Lee.”

“Oh?”

“Without Donna, we’d never have found Soon-Lee’s family,” Max cuts in, grinning.

“Really?”

Donna smiles. “After the better part of a year, we found them settled near one of the refugee camps. It was luck, mostly-.”

“Luck, hell! I’m from Toledo and luck had nothing to do with it. It was all Donna!”

Donna turns pink. 

“Anyway, once we found Soon-Lee’s family, and made sure they were settled, we came back here. And again, we couldn’t have done it without Donna.”

Sherm smiles at her. “Forgive my being forward, but… I’d say Charles is very lucky to have you in his corner.”

Charles, catching the conversation thread, simply says, “Anyone would be.”

Donna blushes, as he kisses her cheek.

“I think we ought to toast the lady.”

“Oh, that’s- that’s really not necessary-”

But she still falls silent as they raise their glasses to her, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and just a little bit of pride.

“I just wanted to help,” she says softly.

“You do,” Max assures her. “Trust me, without you, we wouldn’t have gotten out of Korea.”

“And we wouldn’t have the baby,” Soon-Lee adds.

“Well, I… it’s just what I do.”

“And from the sounds of it, you do a damn fine job,” Sherm says.

“Hear hear.”

* * *

Angelica is distracted talking to Dr. Newsome when Honoria sits back down beside Francis.

_ Hi Father. _

He smiles.  _ Hello. _

_ Are you enjoying yourself? _

_ Very much. I had missed this. What about you? _

_ My brother seems happy. _

Francis can’t resist a chuckle.  _ Happier than I’ve ever seen. _

_ He’s not exactly a prince, is he? _

He shakes his head, the chuckle turning into a laugh, Honoria laughing too.

_ That was a nice blessing. _

_ Thank you. Improvised.  _ Her smile encourages him.  _ I used to find it hard, when I got back. _

_ To believe? _

He nods, slowly.  _ I kept asking why. Should have asked ‘what next?’ _

_ What  _ was  _ next? _

He shrugs, still smiling.  _ Preaching on Sunday. Teaching boys to box. Teaching the language. _

_ And you believe again? _

“Yes,” he says softly. “I do.”

* * *

“Carrying him wasn’t the problem,” Hawkeye says through his laughter, “but let me tell you, Charles and I had a hell of a time stripping him!”

“So what happened?” Trap asks.

“Well,” Hawkeye says, grinning. “We left him naked in the nurses’ tent, in his cot, with the blanket on his cot nailed down… and then borrowed the PA.”

“Incoming wounded?”

“And I run out stark naked… only to find the rest of the camp waiting for me!”

Trap howls with laughter. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“Y’know I’d wondered why some of the nurses were congratulating me,” Peg says dryly, making them laugh harder.

“Remind me to show you the pictures later,” Hawk mutters to her.

BJ shakes his head, blushing. “It was a hell of a prank.”

“Ha, that’s nothing!” Trap laughs. “Shoulda seen the one we pulled on Henry.”

“What?” Lorraine asks.

“Well, ya see, Henry had this antique desk…”

“Only we were short of some medicine we needed, so we went to this guy we knew on the black market, Charlie.”

“Great fashion sense.”

“Really loved his sweaters. And he didn’t need anything we had,” Hawkeye explains. “So we upped the ante.”

“We offered him Henry’s desk.”

“Only… we forgot to mention that detail to Henry,” Hawkeye says with a grin. “We kinda had to commit grand desk auto.”

“Hooked it up to the chopper and flew it on out of there.” Trap is laughing now.

“I’ll never forget the look on Henry’s face,” Hawkeye says, and he’s laughing, “staring as his desk flew off into the sunrise, wondering what the hell it was doing up there.”

“Oh my poor Henry,” Lorraine says, shaking her head, but she’s laughing too.

“You know what kinda wood it was?” Hawk asks.

“Oak.”

“Nope,” Trap says. “It was oak.”

“And in the end we got our medicine. I almost felt bad for Henry, but a desk that nice might’ve swelled his head.”

Peg can almost picture it- the desk soaring in the air, and poor befuddled Henry Blake staring up at it.

“What about what we did for the Painless Pole?” Trap asks, nudging Hawk, who grins.

“Who’s that?”

“He was our dentist,” Hawkeye says. “He filled a special role at the 4077.”

Peg chucks a wadded-up napkin at him, which he dodges.

“He thought he was a pansy,” Trap adds.

“… Why?”

Hawk holds up a finger and then lets it go limp. “His stem wilted.”

“Ah.”

“The Pole wanted to kill himself over it. So we staged a sort of… Last Supper, when Mulcahy wasn’t looking, and gave him a phony,” Trap continues.

“And?”

“And it was a sleeping pill, he woke up with a beautiful nurse, and performed wonderfully. So I heard.”

“That’s incredible,” Peg says, unable to keep from laughing.

“Are we talkin’ about pranks?” Max asks, tuning into the conversation. “Because I’ve got a doozy- what about that time Zale and I switched out all the good movies for VD ones?”

“We remember,” Hawkeye says indignantly. “We wanted  _ Mrs. Miniver,  _ and you switched it out for  _ Little Red Riding Rash. _ ”

“It was the only time I’ve ever seen you and Zale get along,” BJ says. “You both walked around like you were ten feet tall for a week after that.”

“Hey it’s not that often we drudges get to pull one over the officers,” Max says with a laugh.

“Speaking of taller… remember that time we kept switching uniforms on Charles? Making him fatter, skinnier…”

“A classic,” BJ says, as Peg laughs.

“I had  _ suspected,  _ you louts!” Charles says, pulling up a chair. “Nobody’s metabolism works like that!”

“So why didn’t you stop us?”

“You seemed so amused at your childish pettiness, I could hardly resist.”

“You’re a prince, Charles,” Hawkeye says, planting a sloppy kiss on Charles’s cheek, making Peg laugh harder.

“Of course, not  _ all  _ of your pranks landed,” Margaret chimes in, joining them. “Like the cast.”

Hawkeye and BJ exchange a guilty look.

“What cast?” Peg asks, confused.

“These two jokers thought it would be funny to put my fiancé in a plaster cast the night before our wedding.”

“But… surely they took it off-”

“Oh no, no, he wore it during our wedding, and right up until I ripped it off myself in Tokyo.”

“I’ll admit we went a little too far that time-”

“Actually,” Margaret says grimly, “It was probably the best present you could’ve given me, considering how things turned out.”

“Prince Charming turned Donald Dud.” Hawkeye gives Margaret a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Hang on,” Peg says, embarrassed heat creeping up her neck. “You’re not talking about Donald Penobscot, are you?”

“One and the same,” Margaret says, turning to look at her. “Why?”

“I um…” Peggy bites her lip. “I  _ may  _ have egged his house for you. In San Francisco.”

“You  _ what?”  _ BJ asks.

“Did you really?”

“Well, BJ wrote me about what had happened, so I- I called around here, and found out his address.” She smiles weakly, still embarrassed. “Us Margarets should stick together after all.”

Margaret smiles. “You’re a doll.”

“I’m a big believer in vengeance,” Peg says with a shrug, still embarrassed.

“I seem to recall,” Sherm says, looking them over, “a coordinated camp-wide prank one April Fools.”

“The letters prank,” Hawkeye says fondly.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Yes,” Hawk says with a grin. “See, we wanted to do something special – April Fools is a national holiday when you’re living a joke – and we came up with the best idea.”

“We wrote everyone’s folks stateside,” BJ says, picking up the thread, “and had them all write the most outlandish letters to send over here.”

“Wouldn’t people know better?” Trap asks, confused.

“Yes, if they got letters from their own folks. But if they were mistakenly addressed to the wrong people…” Hawkeye grins wickedly.

“Then you’d get Radar accidentally opening a letter to Sherm saying that Mildred bought the houseboat.”

“Damn houseboat,” Sherm mutters.

“Or my personal favourite, Charles getting Radar’s letter about his mom marrying his Uncle Ed.”

They all laugh at this.

“Nearly gave me apoplexy,” Charles says, toasting the boys with his champagne glass. “But masterfully done.”

“Which coming from Charles is really a compliment,” Hawkeye says, but Peg’s thoughts have drifted.

Hawkeye and BJ had written, asked her to be part of the prank, because it wouldn’t look real if they were the only ones without letters, and she’d agreed.

But the first letter, the one she’d written Hawkeye claiming to be in love with him, was never sent. It was too close to the truth, and she was sure at the time that after months of exchanging real letters, he’d see right through her.

Instead she’d sent something much tamer, about running away with the handyman.

She’d burned the first letter.

“Peggy?” BJ asks, nudging her. “You okay, sweetheart?”

She nods, and when she sees that they’re all watching her curiously, she gives them a wicked grin. “How would you boys feel about one last prank? For old time’s sake?”

They exchange a look, but surprisingly it’s Trapper who speaks up first.

“Go on.”

* * *

“You’re not too tired, are you ma’am?” Walter asks Lorraine.

She gives him a smile, too world-weary for his liking. “Oh, I’m just fine.”

“I could walk you upstairs if you’d like?”

“No…” She glances back at the others, looking almost sad. “Henry would’ve loved this.”

“Gee, I know.” Walter slumps. “I miss him. Feels like it’s been so long since I knew him.”

“I know what you mean. Like a different lifetime.”

“Korea is always like that old story Park Sung told me. Through the looking glass, you know?”

“You know Lewis Carroll?” she asks, delighted.

“Didn’t he help discover America?”

She laughs. “He wrote  _ Alice in Wonderland _ .”

“Gee, he must’ve been busy.”

“You’ve mentioned Park Sung before,” she says, and he’s relieved she doesn’t laugh at him. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Walter opens his mouth to answer, but then reconsiders. “Sorta, yeah.”

“Sorta a friend?”

“He works on our farm, and lives with us, and he reads to me so yeah I guess we’re friends.”

“I’m sure he considers himself very lucky, having a friend like you.”

“Nah, I’m the lucky one. He’s a better reader than I am, and it helps his English, so he tells me stories.” He doesn’t explain the way it warms him up, when Park Sung reads to him, how it helps on the coldest nights in Ottumwa.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“I think  _ Alice in Wonderland  _ is his favorite though,” Walter says thoughtfully. “I’d love to find him a new book before I go. We don’t have that many on account of them being so expensive.”

“I’m sure he’d love a new book. Do you want help finding one tomorrow?”

“Sure. And Mrs. Lorraine?”

“Yes?”

“Can I buy you lunch?”

She smiles. “I’d like that very much, Walter.”

* * *

“Can I have your attention, people?” Sherm asks, tapping his fork on the edge of his wineglass.

It quiets down without Radar having to shout.

“Thank you. Now, I know you’re not obligated to listen to me talk anymore, but I’m not just saying things ‘cause I like the sound of my own voice.”

“Go on, Colonel,” Margaret says encouragingly, and Sherm smiles.

“Thank you, Margaret. I… I can’t tell you all how proud I am to see you doing so well for yourselves, now that we’re all home.” His voice wobbles a little, but doesn’t break. “I knew it would be a rough ride for all of us, but you’ve done exactly what I knew you would and handled it wonderfully.”

He looks over them, and it strengthens him.

“I once told a high-ranking buddy of mine that the 4077 wasn’t just a roster of people, it was my family. And that still holds true today. You folks  _ are  _ my family, for all the times I wished I wasn’t your CO.”

This earns him some laughter.

“I had hoped, coming to the 4077, that I’d have a smooth path ahead of me to retirement. And we all know how that turned out. We had our adventures, and our sorrows, and a  _ history  _ we just don’t have with anyone else. So here’s to all of you, who took my last quiet year before retirement… and made a complete hash of it.”

This earns him more laughter.

“Which is exactly what family does. To family.”

“To family!”

“I’d like to propose my own toast,” BJ says, standing up. “Now, I know Peg and I were the ones who put together this little shindig.  _ But  _ this one wouldn’t exist if not for the one in New York in fifty-two.”

His face is shining.

“And that one wouldn’t exist without Hawkeye.”

“Hang on a second,” Hawkeye interrupts, “the party was  _ your  _ idea. I just… helped.”

“You kicked everyone in the butt and got them moving,” BJ reminds him. “And with this crowd, that’s practically a miracle.”

“Look, Beej,” Hawkeye says, his face flushed, “You organized a party for me… so I just wanted to give you one back.”

“Huh?”

“The red party! The scarlet shindig!”

“Of course I did,” BJ says, confused. “It was for you.”

“BJ, you were saying?” Sherm asks pointedly.

BJ, flushed, holds up his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Hawkeye, because as someone once said to me, everyone needs a Hawkeye Pierce. Here’s to you, Hawk.”

Hawkeye’s entire face is pink, and he buries his embarrassment in his champagne as they toast him.

“Let’s not forget the people who couldn’t be here tonight,” Lorraine says softly, rising to her feet. “Our absent friends.”

“Right you are, Mrs. Blake.” Sherm clears his throat. “To our absent friends.”

The mood is a bit more somber now, the room silent.

And then Charles, nearly tipping over, gets to his feet, champagne clutched in one hand, and Donna’s hand in the other, his face shining. “Gentlemen, ladies, I have… no,  _ we  _ have something to announce. You see, Donna and I are going to be married.”

“What?” Hawkeye gasps. “You never said-“

Donna, blushing, looking at Charles like he hung the moon, holds up her hand, where an engagement ring glitters. “Surprise?”

Sherm grins as the room erupts into chaos, champagne is passed around again, everyone swarming the happy couple to offer congratulations.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mildred asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Mighty nice.”

“You’re quite the orator, Sherm Potter,” she teases. “It’s a wonder you never ran for office.”

“I had one hell of a time managing these folks, what makes you think I want  _ more  _ responsibility?”

“They aren’t your responsibility now.”

“They’re family,” he says softly. “They always will be.”

* * *

Bigelow’s record player is back out, now that dinner is over, and the champagne is still flowing.

Donna and Charles hesitate outside the ballroom, pausing so she can straighten his collar.

“I hope I don’t look too disreputable,” he whispers.

“You’re the handsomest man I’ve seen in my life,” Donna says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

They walk back in, hand in hand, and Hawkeye, spotting them, immediately runs over.

“Well?”

“We got it, and at no small cost, I assure you,” Charles says, rolling his eyes. “Do you know how hard it was to find a drug store open late on Saturday night?”

“But you got it?”

“Yes, yes,” Charles says impatiently.

“He’s a magnificent actor, you know,” Donna says, and her smile melts him.

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, well…” Charles flushes hot, embarrassment heating his face. “We wanted to remain inconspicuous so we ah…”

“Played a loved-up couple,” Donna finishes, giggling. “It worked too, that cashier looked as though we were about to go at it right there.”

“You two are geniuses,” Hawkeye grins.

“Well?”

“Ah, Hunnicutt, nice of you to join us,” Charles mutters, before looking at the two of them. “Donna, will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Sure, Chuck,” she says, kissing him on the cheek before wandering off.

“You really lucked out with her, Charles,” Hawkeye says, shaking his head.

“Don’t I know it.”

“What’s this about?” BJ asks, eyeing Charles, a tad warily, and it’s then that the pieces click into place.

And Charles  _ aches  _ with a sudden fondness for his former roommates, as disheveled and earnest as ever, a pair of puppies that nip at his heels and love him despite his flaws, and he’s desperate for them to know.

But instead, he looks between them, and he  _ knows _ .

And it scares him very much, that all of this could fracture so easily.

He tries to smile. “Be careful.”

BJ catches what he’s saying, and nods, but Hawkeye frowns.

“It’s just a prank, Charles.”

Please, I beg of you-  _ do  _ keep each other happy, won’t you?”

And then, satisfied he’s gotten his point across, Charles walks away, hearing Hawkeye ask BJ, “What was  _ that  _ all about?”

And Charles smiles to himself.

* * *

“Hello Daniel.”

Daniel is jolted from his reverie by Mildred, who’s grinning down at him. “Hi.”

“Did you want to dance?”

“But Sherm-“

“He’s talking about something or other with the young folk, movies I think,” Mildred says, rolling her eyes fondly.

Daniel smiles too, a little sadly, because it makes him think of Thalia, and how she should’ve been here for this. “I have two left feet, you know.”

“I know,” she says. “Won’t you at least do it to give me something to tease Sherm about?”

“That I can do,” he says, making her laugh.

Her eyes are twinkling as they take to the floor, slowly swaying back and forth.

“Congratulations on becoming a grandmother again,” he says as they dance.

This surprises another laugh out of Mildred. “You make me sound so old.”

“Never,” he assures her.

“Of course I’m thrilled to death about the new baby,” Mildred says. “But it really does remind a gal that she’s not quite as young as she once was.”

“You love your children, but you do tend to want them to stay children forever,” Daniel agrees.

“When you can still fix their problems.”

They’re both quiet, and then Daniel says, “I wish you could have met my wife.”

“That makes two of us.”

Daniel is lost in his thoughts, thinking of Thalia, and how Sherm got the greatest privilege of all- he and Mildred have grown old together.

“It wasn’t without some trial and error,” she tells Daniel gently, picking up on what he’s thinking. “But we have had some wonderful times.”

“And I’m glad of that, really.” He is, even if he’s a little jealous. “But it isn’t as if I don’t have a family.”

“No, you have that wonderful rogue of a son,” Mildred says, making him laugh. “And I’m dearly glad he never met our Evy.”

“A born troublemaker?”

“They’d have gotten on like a house aflame, and burned down everything.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says after a moment. “I… I mean it, Mildred, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, dear, just keep me company.”

“I have two left feet you know,” he says again, making her laugh.

Her eyes are twinkling. “But your heart is in the right place.”

“Mildred, I think this is the start of a wonderful friendship,” he jokes, making her soften.

“Well, who else am I gonna dance with when Sherm’s not here?”

* * *

There was this one film I was sorry to miss,” Sherm says, shaking his head wistfully. “A Western.  _ High Noon.” _

“That sounds familiar…” BJ frowns.

“Us medicos got the finest product available?” Hawkeye suggests, and BJ laughs.

“I don’t get your meaning, son.”

“That weenie Frankenheimer,” BJ says. “The film distributor in Seoul.”

“Ah yes, the one responsible for the  _ Moon is Blue  _ SNAFU.”

BJ and Hawkeye exchange a guilty look, and Hawk continues, “he was saving all the good movies for the generals.”

“Stars for the stars… disgusting.” Sherm shakes his head. “I gotta say, even worse than the Western, was the Doris Day pictures I missed.”

“If we couldn’t get a decent Western, poor Doris didn’t stand a chance.”

“Peg, what was that one you took me to see when I got home?” BJ asks, frowning.

Peggy grins.  _ “Singin’ in the Rain.” _

“Right.” BJ laughs at the memory. “We sat in the back row like a couple of teenagers.”

“I’m not sure we actually looked up the whole movie.”

“Well you guys are crazy,” Hawkeye says fondly. “I saw that one too and it was a  _ great  _ movie.”

“You didn’t bring a date to that one?”

“I did, but she got annoyed because I got more interested in Donald O’Connor than I was in her. Do you know how long it had been since I’d seen a good movie?”

“Speaking of movies,” Charles calls down the table, “Have you been to that commercial monstrosity in your state yet, Hunnicutt?”

“Huh?”

“Disneyland! A merchandiser’s paradise!”

“Oh.” BJ turns pink. “Well, actually no.”

“Really?”

“We’re taking Erin for her birthday in July,” Peg says, glancing around to make sure Erin isn’t in earshot. “It’s not every day she turns five after all.”

“Lucky Erin,” Hawkeye mutters beside BJ. “I have to just be content with seeing it on  _ Disneyland.” _

BJ blinks. “You watch  _ Disneyland?” _

“Of course,” Hawkeye says. “Every Wednesday. I never miss it”

“Us too,” Peggy says softly, the three of them sharing a smile. “Erin adores it.”

Sherm, watching them, raises an eyebrow at BJ, who grins back, embarrassed.

“Also,” BJ says casually, “I don’t know what you have to be jealous of, since you’re coming with us.”

Hawkeye’s face lights up. “I- I am?”

“Of course.” BJ claps him on the shoulder. “Unless you don’t want to?”

Hawkeye beams. “I wouldn’t miss it for the whole goddamn world.”

* * *

“Gentlemen, I have something here that I believe will interest you,” Charles says, sitting down between BJ and Hawkeye.

“It’s not pictures of your dog again, is it?”

“Something much better.” Charles smiles, and tugs the book from his pocket. “An unsullied, perfectly  _ whole  _ copy of  _ The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.” _

There’s a pause.

And then-

“No way,” Hawkeye says.

“Is the last page there?” BJ asks, trying not to look too hopeful.

“The bookseller  _ assured  _ me that it was, and I had Honoria check for me. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” BJ says, looking it over in amazement. “Charles, it’s-  _ wow.” _

“We gotta tell everyone,” Hawkeye says. “I’ve been waiting four years to find out who the murderer is.”

“Attention! Attention everyone!” BJ says, standing up, and everyone turns to look at him. “I don’t know if any of you remember, but back in Korea, Peg sent me a book-  _ The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.” _

“Right,” Sherm says. “The whodunnit without the who.”

“Yes, well, Charles found us a copy- and the last page is in it!”

This is rewarded with a cheer.

“Read it to us, won’t you BJ?” Peg asks, and she gives him a look like the cat that got the canary, but it doesn’t register.

“Sure, sure thing.” He flips to the second last page.  _ “A hush fell over the drawing room as Inspector Langley casually lit his pipe and announced ‘I can now disclose the identity of the murderer. The killer’s name is-’" _

He stops, because surely there has to be a mistake.

Oh God.

“Alright son,” Sherm says, as the pause continues, “a little anticipation is fun, but don’t keep us in suspenders all night. Who did it?”

“It’s gone,” BJ whispers, before turning to Charles in horror. “Charles, where’s the last page?”

“What?”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Hawkeye says, burying his face in his hands. “Goddamn Inspector Langley.”

“No, I- this can’t possibly be right,” Charles says, grabbing the book back from BJ. “No, Honoria  _ assured  _ me-"

“You mean you don’t  _ know?”  _ Sherm asks.

“You didn’t  _ check? _ ”

“I didn’t wish to spoil the surprise!” Charles says, flipping through the book, a look of horror growing on his face.

The ominous silence is broken by a raucous, wild, laugh.

Everyone turns, only to see Honoria near hysterics in her chair, practically bent in half with the force of her laughter.

Every time she looks as though she’s done, she looks at all of them, and starts giggling all over again.

“What’s so funny, sister dear?” Charles asks, his eye twitching.

“I h-have the last p-page!” she says, in between giggles. “I t-tore it out!”

“Norie,” Charles groans.

“I’ll g-get it,” she says, still giggling to herself as she takes her leave.

“Hallelujah.”

Charles buries his head in his hands. “I almost just became the twelfth victim.”

“Don't forget the two pigs and a canary,” BJ adds.

“You know, I’m still rooting for Maurice the French accountant,” Hawkeye tells BJ as he sits back down, embarrassed.

“This never would’ve happened if the last page hadn’t gone missing in the first place.”

“Oh, darling,” Peg says, and now she’s laughing too. “The last page didn’t go missing.”

“What do you mean?” BJ asks, though he’s suspicious he knows why.

“I tore it out before I even sent it to you. It was never there to begin with.”

“What?” Hawk asks. “Why?”

“It sounds silly now, but…” Peg shakes her head, still grinning. “I figured I could get BJ to come back after the war ended, even if it was just to find out who the killer was.”

“You’re diabolical,” BJ tells her.

“Well you came home, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

* * *

“When do you think the wedding will be?” Margaret asks Donna, after the furor over the murderer’s identity settles down.

“Well,” Donna says, giving Charles a sideways glance that sets a fire burning in him, “We were thinking next year. April.”

“A spring wedding would be  _ darling,  _ all fresh flowers _ - _ ”

“Forget the spring wedding,” Charles cuts Margaret off, and it may just be the champagne talking, or Donna’s hand in his, but he’s just had a brilliant idea. “Let’s get married now.”

Donna blinks, and flushes. “Now as in… now?”

“We have a priest, don’t we?” he asks, grinning a little lopsidedly. “Father!”

Father Mulcahy turns from an intense conversation he’s been having with Radar. “Yes?”

“We were wondering, that is to say, Donna and I- would you marry us?”

“Right now?” Donna asks.

Father Mulcahy looks between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, “I can’t hear you.”

And then he turns back to his conversation, a smirk on his face, making Margaret laugh.

“All’s not lost,” Donna says seriously, before turning. “Oh Steve…”

“Donna, I told you, I’m not that kind of captain,” Steve says with a grin. “Though I’m touched you think I could be.”

“We just want to get married,” Donna explains, thankfully more sober than Charles. “Why is that so hard?”

“Because you’re drunk,” Steve says fondly. “And because you two have a tendency to get married when you’re drunk.”

“A-At least we get points for consistency,” Charles says proudly.

“If not decency,” Margaret says with a laugh, watching them.

“I don’t want you two having regrets-“

“Regrets?” Charles asks, annoyed, because  _ look at Donna,  _ how could anyone have regrets? “I am marrying an  _ angel,  _ Dr. Newsome! They will write  _ songs  _ about her one day.”

“Oh, stop,” Donna says, laughing as she swats his arm.

He turns and looks at her, her voice a siren’s call. 

“My Donna,” he says softly, “if there aren’t sonnets written about you someday, the world is not a just place.”

Donna blushes.

“Steve,” she says, “If you marry us, we’ll name a son after you.”

“Please,” Charles agrees, and it melts him, makes his chest  _ ache  _ to think of a child of his and Donna’s.

Steve rolls his eyes. “The answer is still no.”

Charles turns back to Donna, cupping her face in his hands. “It seems I still can’t keep my hands off you.”

She smiles back up at him. “Think you can keep the compliment short?”

In answer, he leans down to kiss her.

* * *

“What were you talking about earlier?” Hawkeye asks BJ once they’re alone.

“About what?”

“About me.”

BJ doesn’t meet his eyes. “I said a lot of things about you, Hawk, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“You said someone told you once that everyone should have a Hawkeye Pierce.”

BJ smiles, and looks up. “You still don’t know, huh?”

“Know what?”

“I told you, Hawk.” BJ fiddles with his champagne glass, not meeting Hawk’s eye. “You give so much. And people remember that.”

“So who told you that? How everyone needs a me?”

“Klinger did.”

“When?”

“Uh…” BJ if possible, blushes harder. “The last day in Korea.”

“Beej?”

“Do you remember the note I left you?” he asks, and Hawk blinks at the subject change.

White rocks flashing in the sunlight, BJ’s note:  _ Goodbye. _

“Of course.”

“Well, you don’t think I did it by myself, did you?”

“I… I hadn’t thought about it. So you’re saying… Max helped?”

“Not Max, Hawk,” BJ says, softly, finally looking up. “Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

BJ’s face swims in front of him, and Hawk has to duck his head, blinking back tears, a lump in his throat. “Why?”

“Because we love you, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

“Hawk, look at me.”

Hawk, overwhelmed, looks up, meeting blue eyes, and a soft smile.

“Every single person that day had a story about how you made Korea more bearable for them. Me included.”

“O-Oh.”

BJ reaches over and takes his hand, rubbing his thumb across Hawk’s knuckles, and Hawk can’t help it.

He starts crying.

“Oh Hawk,” BJ says softly. “Hawk, no, don’t- don’t cry-"

“Beej-"

“Shh, hey.” And then BJ’s hugging him, the lump in his throat dissolving into more tears. “You give so much, Hawk, and we love you for it.”

Hawkeye pulls away, wiping his eyes. “Beej, I…”

BJ’s eyes are soft, filled with a tenderness Hawkeye is scared to name, his hand coming up to cup Hawk’s cheek, his thumb brushing over bone.

“You’re loved, you fool,” is all he says, and Hawkeye  _ melts. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I know I say it every time but thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, kudos and comment. You've made the journey a fun one ♥ Enjoy!


	16. The Reunion (Part V)

There’s just the barest sliver of a crescent moon hanging in the sky, a faint light shining in through the windows of the ballroom, not much more than a glimmer compared to the warm glow of the lights inside, the crowd dwindling.

Charles is immune to the charms of both moonlight and music, but is instead entranced by his fiancée, walking Soon-Lee through the steps of the ländler, both of them laughing, and it makes him smile into his champagne.

And  _ God,  _ how he wants to be worthy of her.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Charles looks up, pulled from his reverie, only to find Daniel Pierce standing there, a half-asleep Erin Hunnicutt in his arms. He’s wearing a roguish grin that’s the mirror image of his son’s.

“Be my guest,” Charles says, gesturing to the chair beside him, which Daniel sinks into with relief.

Erin shifts sleepily in his arms, and Daniel beams at Charles. “You in town for the conference?”

Surprised by this opening, Charles laughs. “I suppose you could say that, yes.”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Daniel says, extricating a hand to offer to Charles. “But I’m going to guess you’re Charles Emerson Winchester. The Third. Honoria’s brother.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been introduced with  _ that  _ before,” Charles says, absurdly pleased by this relatively small honour. “But I suppose she  _ would  _ make an impression.”

Daniel grins. “Give me a chance to get to know you, I’m sure you’re equally memorable.”

“And you must be Dr. Pierce. Er… that is, Dr. Pierce  _ Senior,”  _ Charles says, glad to shake his hand. “I had hoped Pierce – er, Hawkeye – would introduce us, but alas he seems to have forgotten. Mercifully, what he lacks in decorum, he makes up for in skill.”

Belatedly, he flushes as he realizes who he’s talking to, but Daniel just laughs. “You’ll just have to forgive the old country doctor who raised him. And call me Daniel.”

“He speaks very highly of you, you know.”

Daniel blinks, surprised by this, or perhaps by the longing in Charles’s voice. “Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

Charles flushes deeper, and looks down at the tablecloth, unsure of what to say.

“You know,” Daniel says lightly, “I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Charles asks, looking back up, confused. “Whatever for?”

“Ben told me what you did for him. In Korea.”

“I was only…” Charles hesitates. “Anyone else would’ve done it.”

“But it was you, and from what Ben told me, it was no small thing. So thank you.” Daniel reaches out and squeezes his hand, a fatherly gesture that puts a lump in Charles’s throat.

“I believe it’s you I have to thank, Dr. Pierce… Daniel.” Charles smiles. “I learned a lot from your son.”

This has surprised Daniel, Charles can tell, and he looks as though he’d like to say something else, when the sound of Donna’s laughter distracts them. They both turn, only to see that she’s recruited a few more people for her impromptu dance lesson.

“Your fiancée is quite the pistol,” Daniel says with a chuckle. “Fitting, I guess, since she’s marrying a Winchester.”

“She  _ is  _ quite marvelous, isn’t she?” Charles asks softly, watching her correct Sherman’s posture as she walks him and Mildred through the dance.

“A girl like that?” Daniel asks, watching her, still smiling. “I imagine she caused quite the stir among your Boston-baked relations.”

“You called her a pistol,” Charles says, unable to keep the irony from his voice. “You can imagine the kickback.”

Daniel laughs. “Having met your folks, I’ll bet. But I’d also bet my last coin she’s worth it.”

“Unquestionably.”

“I suppose now that you’re settling down, you’ll be looking for a summer home,” Daniel says with a grin, though Charles notices it’s his turn to fiddle with the edges of the tablecloth. “And you know if the high muckety-muck in the big city ever gets to be too much… I happen to have a little country practice that could use a doctor of your caliber.”

“Do I know Maine’s laws on poaching?”

“It’s legal,” Daniel says. “Or at least the eggs don’t mind.”

Charles glances at him, hearing something in his voice. “Daniel…”

“You don’t have to, of course, but… well, we look after our own in my family, is all.”

“And you… consider  _ me  _ to be your family?”

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” Daniel quotes softly. “You’re Ben’s family, and that makes you mine too.”

There’s a lump in Charles’s throat, and he has to look away from the raw emotion on Daniel’s face. “Oh.”

“The offer is open… unless you don’t want to leave Boston, that is.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charles says, his mind wandering back to a city that was once his oyster, before his eyes drift to his fiancée- his pearl, “sometimes I think a change of pace might be nice.”

“You’ll always be welcome in Maine. In my home.”

“Home,” Charles muses. “How funny.”

“What?”

“Oh, just… I never quite learned what that was until I met your son.”

Daniel smiles. “Really?”

“Well, him and Hunnicutt, but you can’t have one without the other, can you?” Charles flushes, horribly afraid he’s shown a hand that isn’t his to lay down.

Daniel raises an eyebrow, surprised. “I guess that means you know.”

Charles blinks, momentarily confused, but Daniel seems to be aware, so he says cautiously, “I did live in close quarters with the two of them for a year and a half, after all, and while I am no Sherlock Holmes, I’m not a dunce either.”

Daniel smiles a little, though he does check that Erin is asleep, and glances around the room, before turning back to Charles. “Do they know that you know?”

“Daniel, as long as I lived with them, they didn’t even know that  _ they  _ knew!” Charles says, unable to keep the frustration from his voice, making Daniel laugh outright.

“And yet… they trust you.”

“Yes,” Charles says softly, suddenly awestruck with the magnitude of what Daniel is saying, and he melts a bit at the trust the Hunnicutts have shown him. “BJ and Peg at least trust me with the knowledge of their feelings… and it isn’t something I take lightly. To hold their home in the palm of my hand and know…”

Daniel only nods, understanding, but all he says is, “home is where you make it.”

“Chuck!” Donna calls from the dance floor, her voice ringing with laughter, echoing through him like the first time she’d called him that, breaking the two of them from their somber mood.

Daniel smiles, and nods towards Donna. “Better go.”

“Thank you,” Charles says softly.

“Thank  _ you,”  _ Daniel says, patting his hand. “And congrats on the engagement.”

Charles, seized by impulse, asks, “You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you? You and Pierce?”

Daniel grins. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles nods, before walking over to Donna, smiling to himself.

“What’s got you all sunny, darling?” she asks, her hair loose around her face, flushed with laughter.

“Kiss me first, and then I’ll tell you everything.”

“I believe they call that extortion.”

“Perhaps,” he says, kissing her first. “Good thing I find you arresting.”

She laughs, but stands on her toes to kiss him back. When she pulls away, she studies him. “You looked very intense over there, Chuck, is everything alright?”

“I have you,” he says softly, cupping her cheek in his hand. “And I know where home is.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“Once perhaps. But no longer.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

“More than that, Donna, it’s everything.”

* * *

Soon-Lee sinks gratefully into a chair at Peggy’s table.

“Ah, ah,” Peggy says, pouring another glass of champagne. “No shoes at my table.”

Soon-Lee, flushed from laughter and exertion, gladly kicks off her shoes.  _ “Oh.” _

“See?” Peggy asks smugly, making Soon-Lee laugh. 

Soon-Lee flexes her bare feet, wincing. They’ll be aching tomorrow, she knows, but it will be worth it for the way Max has lit up tonight, for the chance to let their guard down around friends. “Are you drinking alone?”

“Not if you have one,” Peggy says with a grin.

“Deal.”

Peggy pushes a glass of champagne across the table. “Where did your boys get to?”

“Poker game,” Soon-Lee says, nodding towards one of the darker corners of the ballroom.

“Is Seong-Jae a good poker player?” Peg asks, making Soon-Lee laugh.

“Not yet, but he’s Max’s bluff.”

It’s Peggy’s turn to laugh. “That’s damn clever, did you think of it?”

Soon-Lee nods, delighting in Peggy’s enjoyment. “What about your boys?”

Peg’s eyes go soft as she smiles. “I haven’t a damn clue where my- _my_ boys are.”

“Excuse me.” The two of them look up, only to find Dr. McIntyre’s wife, Louise, standing there. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Pull up a chair,” Peg says, smiling at her, though Soon-Lee can tell there’s something else in the smile, something unsaid. “Join the party. Bare feet only though.”

Louise kicks her shoes off with savage pleasure. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Champagne?”

“Thanks,” Louise says, and gulps down the proffered champagne like a shot. “Play it again, Sam.”

“Something on your mind, Ingrid?” Peg asks, innocently.

“No.”

“Your funeral,” Peg says, pouring her another glass, before turning back to Soon-Lee. “I don’t think I asked how you’re doing.”

Soon-Lee blinks, surprised. “How… I’m doing?”

“Yeah. I mean, we asked about the baby, and Max, but does anybody ever ask about you?”

This gives her pause. “Why would they?”

Peg smiles. “Because you’re here. You’re a girl living far away from everything she knows.”

Soon-Lee blushes. “I’ve adjusted.”

“I know, but… just because you’ve adjusted, doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard. I mean, what, you spent how long looking for your family? A year, Donna said?”

“Almost a year.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that would be,” Peg says, her face softening. “To find your family only to leave them again right after.”

“We had some time,” Soon-Lee says softly. “A few months, you know, before the papers came through.”

“Still! Leaving behind everything you knew and were comfortable with is a big step.”

Soon-Lee fidgets with the tablecloth. “You sound like you know.”

“Oh, I’m old hat at it,” Peggy says, waving a hand dismissively. “Moved to California when I was almost eighteen, didn’t look back.”

This is surprising. “You mean… you didn’t miss your family?”

“I did, and that’s why I’m asking. All I did was move a couple of states away- you moved all the way to a different country!”

“It is brave,” Louise adds, making Soon-Lee blush.

“It wasn’t noble or anything,” she protests. “It was to stay with Max.”

“I didn’t say noble, did I?” Peg asks with a grin. “I said brave. You  _ are  _ brave, you’re the American fucking Dream!”

Soon-Lee laughs, as much at the unexpected profanity as appreciation for Peggy Hunnicutt. “It was nothing.”

“You’re brave,” Peggy says again. “Own it. And don’t ever let anyone make you forget it, because God knows they’ll try.”

“It makes the rest of us ladies wish we could be that brave,” Louise says, before holding up her glass. “A toast.”

“What’ll we drink to?” Soon-Lee asks, still embarrassed at being the center of attention.

“Bravery,” Peggy says, and they clink their glasses together.

* * *

“I was lucky,” Goldman says, squinting down at his cards, and he looks almost guilty through the haze of cigar smoke. “I didn’t rely on it so much after I got home.”

John stares down at his cards, trying to keep his face neutral even as he curses internally at the shift in conversation, the cards blurring into pinpoints of colour in front of him.

“My wife told me it was her or the booze,” Zale says darkly. “Call.”

“What did you end up deciding?” Goldman asks, tossing a chip onto the pile with a clatter.

Zale laughs. “Lemme just say I gotta fine collection of whiskey bottles and no house to put ‘em in.”

John winces.

“Rizzo said in his last letter they almost tossed him outta the army for bein’ drunk and disorderly,” Klinger says, watching them play, his son sleeping in his arms. John shudders to think about all the cigar smoke the poor kid’s breathing in, but otherwise it’s a sweet scene.

“Whaddaya mean?” Igor asks. “All he sends me is recipes.”

“Yeah, they put him in the stockade twice, trying to get him to cool down. Guess they’re not so forgiving about being drunk on duty when they don’t need soldiers quite so bad- especially bums like Rizzo.”

“Did he say what made him do it?”

Klinger shrugs. “Said it was the only way his head would get quiet again.”

John flinches, dropping a poker chip, though the clatter is lost under the sympathetic noises around the table.

“I had a lot of guys up on the line saying that,” Tony Baker says, shaking his head. “For them it was an escape, y’know? Drink enough and you can forget it all, the mud, the shelling, the guys leaving the line in pieces, and all your guilt and gratitude it wasn’t you.”

“So what stopped you?”

“Mickey,” Tony says simply. “I couldn’t hide it from her, any more than she could hide it from me.”

“Her too?” Zale asks incredulously.

“Sure. We all drank!” Tony looks around. “Didn’t we?”

“Because we were bored,” Igor says.

“Or tired,” Max adds.

“Or traumatized,” Goldman says softly.

“Just trying to numb ourselves enough to get to sleep.” John doesn’t know Dr. Newsome that well, but even he can recognize the haunted look in his eyes.

John is trying to be inconspicuous in the fact that he’s hiding behind his cards, and a pretty shitty hand too. But he can bluff his way out of this.

“And it doesn’t stop once you get home,” Zale says. “You think just one drink oughta do it, put your lights out, but then one drink to sleep turns into two for the road, and next thing ya know, your wife’s fishin’ ya outta the drunk tank and asking for a divorce.”

“Or you realize all the empty bottles are yours, and you took out the trash two days ago,” Goldman says.

“Or all you think about is the next one,” Igor adds.

Dennis, one of the other corpsmen, chooses that moment to speak up. “Any of you guys go to the meetings?”

“Oh sure, my idiot divorce attorney insisted,” Zale says sarcastically. “As if  _ he  _ knew anything. Meet in a church basement and listen to all these lawyers talk about how they cracked under the stress. I’d like to send ‘em to Korea, show ‘em some real stress!”

Goldman nods too. “My doctor at the VA suggested it.”

“What are ya talking about?” John asks, though he already knows the answer.

“The meetings,” Dennis says again, raising an eyebrow.

“Make amends, they said,” Goldman says, fiddling with his poker chip like it’s a sobriety chip instead. “Never mind that half the kids I wanna make amends to are the ones I couldn’t save.”

“Hey listen,” John cuts in, desperate to change the subject. “We gonna sit around and form our own meeting or are we gonna play poker?”

The others exchange a look that makes him sweat, but then Tony Baker gives him an out. “Let’s play.”

“You trying to hustle us again, Baker?” Zale asks. “I don’t like being fleeced.”

“I prefer to think of it as trimming the excess,” Baker says with a grin.

“He’s feeling pretty sheepish,” John says, relieved.

“Go on then, pretty boy, show us what you got,” Zale says to Baker.

“Alright. There, a straight.” Tony lays his cards down. “Anyone else?”

“I’m out,” Dennis says, tossing down his cards.

“Me too,” Igor says.

“Zelmo?” Tony asks.

“Four of a kind, prince charming. Read ‘em and weep,” Zale says, slapping his cards down with a cackle.

“What about you, Trap?” Max asks. “You always used to have the best hands.”

“Uh.” He looks down at his shitty hand, and back up at them, and is trying to think up a convincing bluff, when there’s a hand on his shoulder.

He’s relieved to see Louise. “Hi honey. Time to go?”

She nods. “They’re waiting for you.”

John is eager to toss down his cards. “Sorry to disappoint ya, ladies, but I’ve got places to be.”

“Godspeed,” Tony says, raising his cigar. “Well, Zale-"

“is going to be disappointed,” Goldman says with a grin, setting down his cards. “A royal flush.”

John follows Louise away from the table, away from the laughter and Zale’s cursing, and the further he gets from the cigar smoke, the clearer his mind gets.

“Are you alright, darling?” Louise asks, looping an arm through his. “You look very intense.”

“Yeah, honey,” he says, his mind a million miles away. “I’m just peachy.”

* * *

“Is he coming or not?” BJ asks, looking around the ballroom impatiently, his arms crossed. “It’s getting late.”

“Don’t worry,” Hawk assures him. “If anyone will find him, it’s Louise.”

“Should’ve sent Donna instead,” Peg mutters.

“Remind me why we couldn’t have Charles come with us instead of Trapper?”

“Because his fiancée is far more fucking captivating than us,” Peg points out. “And honestly who could blame him?”

“What are you saying, Pegs?” Hawkeye asks. “We’re not captivating enough?”

This makes her grin. “I’m saying he’s the smartest of the three of you.”

“How so?”

“Oh, you know, swamp rats leaving a sinking ship and all that.”

“Are you three heading out?” Daniel asks, walking over with Erin in his arms.

“We are,” Hawkeye says.

“That is if  _ Trapper  _ ever shows up,” BJ snorts.

“I was thinking I’d take Erin upstairs and put her to bed,” Daniel explains. “It’s getting awfully late, and besides, I promised I’d have breakfast with the Potters tomorrow before they go.”

“Not giving up on Mildred, I see.”

Daniel grins. “Nope. Anyway, Erin wanted to say goodnight first.”

Peggy steps forward first, smoothing Erin’s hair back, the way she has since Erin was little, and kissing her forehead. “Goodnight little miss. Be good for Grandpa Danny, okay?”

“You be good too, mom,” Erin says sternly, which makes her laugh.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I love you.”

Erin smiles. “I love you back.”

“What about me, little bean?” BJ asks her, poking her in the nose. “You love me, don’t you?”

“No,” she giggles.

“No?” He makes a sad face, and she giggles harder. “You don’t?”

“No, I  _ super  _ love you,” she says, and laughs as he kisses her, Peg aching inside to think he ever missed out on this.

“Well I super love you too. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

“Time to go?” Daniel asks her, and she frowns.

“But I haven’t said goodnight to Uncle Hawkee yet!”

“No? Well we can’t have that.”

Hawkeye, grinning, steps forward, bowing to Erin, who giggles. “I appreciate the fair lady’s token of affection.”

“Don’t be silly, Uncle Hawkee.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, crossing his eyes. “I was born that way.”

“He wasn’t,” Daniel stage whispers to her. “He’s just weird.”

Erin nods. “I know.”

“Goodnight Erin,” Hawkeye says, and kisses her forehead quickly.

And then Erin throws her arms around his neck, and says, very quietly, “Uncle Hawkee?”

“Yeah Erin?”

“I love you to the  _ Titanic  _ and back,” she says seriously when she pulls back.

He smiles, his face radiant, as Peg and BJ exchange a look. “I love you too.”

“I believe that’s our cue,” Daniel says. “Stay out of trouble, all of you, I don’t have enough bail money for three.”

“Then you don’t know us at all,” Peg quips, before kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks, Daniel.”

“I’ll take care of everything else,” he tells her softly. “You just take care of my son.”

“We will.”

She watches Daniel leave, Erin giving her a wave over his shoulder- “Hawk, are you crying?”

Hawk ducks his head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” BJ asks with a grin. “Sure looks like it.”

“No, I just got something in my eye,” Hawkeye lies, making her and BJ laugh.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“That’s some language for a lady,” Trapper says, walking over casually. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“Long enough,” BJ says sharply.

Peg steps in between them. “Shall we?”

“Lead on, fair lady,” Hawkeye says, gesturing to the door.

“I thought Erin was the fair lady,” Peg says, as she walks out the door, stopping in the doorway to look up at Hawkeye, who is close enough in the doorframe to make her heart pound.

“Well,” he says with a grin that melts her. “She had to get it from somewhere.”

* * *

“H-Hello Margaret,” Honoria says, elegantly settling into an empty chair at the nurses’ table. “F-Fancy joining me upstairs f-for a n-nightcap?”

Margaret feels her face heat up in an uncharacteristic blush, because she isn’t used to the way Honoria is looking at her, like they’re the only two people in the room. “I- I was actually going to have a drink with my nurses.”

Honoria’s grin widens. “T-They can come t-too.”

“Really?”

Honoria gives her a wink. “F-For the first r-round, anyway.”

Margaret ducks her head, her cheeks hot. “Are you trying to unsettle me?”

“Is it w-working?”

“Yes.”

Honoria grins. “W-Why do I get the f-feeling it took a lot for you t-to admit that?”

Margaret, if possible, blushes hotter. “Why do  _ I  _ get the feeling you’re enjoying this?”

Honoria just laughs. “Shall w-we move the p-party upstairs, then?”

“I’ll have to ask my nurses.”

Kellye, who is closest, laughs, before grinning between Margaret and Honoria like she knows exactly what’s happening. “As  _ if  _ we wouldn’t say yes.”

“S-See?” Honoria says to Margaret. “It’s even c-chaperoned.”

“Why don’t I trust you?” Margaret asks, as they head towards the elevator, the nurses following.

“B-Because,” Honoria says with a laugh. “Y-You’re too smart.”

Margaret wants to remember how this is a bad idea, or at least remember that this is Charles’s  _ sister,  _ but when those blue eyes are turned on her, it turns all her willpower to dust- and it’s been so long since anyone looked at her the way Honoria does.

“Then why am I going along with this?” she asks, a little foolishly.

Honoria turns her beguiling blue gaze on Margaret. “Y-You deserve a good t-time.”

“With you?”

Honoria shrugs. “W-With anyone.”

“I’m not lonely you know,” Margaret says, unsettled that Honoria has picked up her train of thought, and it comes out as sharpness in her voice. “Whatever else you think, I’m not lonely.”

“Y-You think that’s w-why I want y-you?” Honoria asks in a low voice that makes Margaret gulp.

“Why  _ do  _ you want me?” Margaret asks bluntly, a little breathlessly.

“B-Because,” Honoria says, as if it’s obvious, her smile stunning, “I h-have a taste for the f-finer things in l-life.”

* * *

Hawkeye hadn’t realized until now just how much he misses playing pranks on people.

The electric feeling of it all, the jitters of lying in wait, and then  _ pure chaos. _

In Korea, the world’s worst joke, it had been second nature, a way to alleviate boredom, to offset chaos they couldn’t control with chaos they could.

And the feeling is back again, as refreshing as the cold spring breeze rustling the leaves of the bushes he’s crouched in with BJ, Trap and Peggy, staring at the Buckingham fountain.

It looks different in the dark, eerie almost, the horses resembling otherworldly creatures. 

It's almost serene- though not for long.

“Are we ready?” he whispers.

“Ready,” BJ whispers back, his teeth flashing white in the darkness, and Trap nods beside him.

“Perfect- wait.” Hawk looks around. “Where’s Peggy?”

“Here, here, sorry,” Peg says, sounding like she’s suppressing a laugh as she pops up beside him.

“Where did you get to?” Hawk asks.

“I had to make a pit stop,” she says, sounding embarrassed. “That champagne went right through me.”

“Why didn’t you go-?”

“ _ Before  _ we left?” Trapper finishes, annoyed, and he and BJ look at each other, surprised.

“I didn’t have to go then,” she says, petulant, sounding a bit too much like Erin.

Hawk can’t help laughing, but it does nothing to diffuse the sudden tension.

“Remind me why we had to bring the little lady along?” Trap asks BJ, who tenses.

“Because,” Peg cuts in. “The  _ little lady  _ came up with the fucking idea.”

“So?”

_ “So,”  _ she says, her voice heavy with annoyance, “I have this little thing about taking credit for my own work. Why did  _ you  _ come, Trapper?”

Hawkeye clears his throat before things can escalate further, and holds up his bottle of bubble bath. “Do we all have our weapons?”

The others nod.

“Uh, Hawk, listen, before we go out there, there’s something I need to tell you,” BJ says.

“Beej, do you have to use the little boy’s bush too?”

“No! I mean, uh. You know all those pranks that happened that one time Sidney came to stay?”

“Yeah?”

“It was me.”

Hawk, expecting something else entirely, laughs. “I knew that, Beej.”

“You did? How?”

“Because I never got pranked.”

“Ahem,” Trap cuts in, clearing his throat. “You gotta prank everyone. Rookie mistake. Can we go?”

“Sure thing,” BJ says.

“Alright,” Hawk says, grabbing his bottle of bubble bath. “Forward,  _ march!” _

And giggling, they race across the green to the fountain.

* * *

“Oh,” Donna very nearly moans, collapsing backwards onto the bed, her feet aching exquisitely, “Oh, I won’t be able to move an  _ inch  _ tomorrow.”

“That bad is it?” Charles teases gently, sitting down on the bed beside her and taking her hand.

“That bad, and worse,” she tells him, delighting in it when he laughs.

_ God  _ she hopes she’ll never take that laugh for granted!

“I invited Steve to our wedding,” she tells him, and he smiles.

“Not as the officiator, I hope.”

This makes her laugh. “No, as a guest. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Donna,” he says quietly, “my dear, I don’t care who’s there, so long as you are. You are all that matters.”

She blushes. “Flatterer.”

“Though on that note,” he says. “I invited the rest of the officers as well. And the Klingers of course.”

“Chuck!” she says, thumping him on the shoulder, and the two of them are reduced to helpless giggles for a few seconds.

And then she props herself up on an elbow. “When you say all the officers…”

“Yes?”

“You don’t mean Dr. McIntyre, do you?”

“God no.” Charles chuckles, almost to himself, shaking his head. “Oh, I can’t say I was sorry when Margaret knocked his block off.”

“Should’ve heard what Peggy wanted to do when she heard he’d hit on me. I believe it involved a baseball bat, but she wouldn’t go into details.”

“Well, I won’t condone violence,” Charles says, and then gives her a sly grin. “But I’d have paid her legal fees.”

“You’re incredible,” she tells him fondly.

“It’s only a reflection of your own virtue at this point.”

Her breath catches in her throat as he runs his thumb across her knuckles, her hand so small encased in his.

And suddenly all she can do is stare, a little greedily, at her Charles, painted golden in the lamplight.

His tie is hanging loose around his neck, his top button undone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and he’s so beautiful in his dishevelment, in a way that makes her mouth dry and her heart pound, more so because she is the only one who gets to see him like this.

“You’re staring,” he tells her.

“You’re beautiful.”

He looks up in surprise. “I don’t believe anyone has ever accused me of  _ that  _ before.”

“Well, you should be told more often.”

She watches as he blushes, turning her hand over, brushing his fingers over the lines of her palm. “You’re the one who’s beautiful, Donna.”

“I…” she says, breathlessly. “I love you.”

His smile at this is brilliant. “I love you. Most ardently.”

She tugs him down beside her, so that they’re facing each other. “Stay with me a while, won’t you?”

“You’ll give me a reputation.”

“The hell with a reputation,” she says, and delights in it when he kisses her, cupping her cheek in his hand, handling her like she’s a work of art. He tastes like champagne in a way that makes her head spin.

Warmth fills her chest, the way his cologne fills her lungs, and she can’t help snuggling in when she pulls away, thinking of a broad chest and strong arms, and blueberry pancakes in the morning, and Pongo sleeping at the end of their bed- this is  _ home,  _ she thinks.

“Are you glad we came?” she asks, as he wraps his arms around her.

“Yes,” he says softly, like a confession, and she is the one to absolve him. But he surprises her. “I never expected this.”

“What, darling?”

“To find…” He hesitates. “A home. Of a sort.”

“Of a sort,” she agrees, lacing her fingers with his.

He kisses her temple. “Shall we call Pongo, then?”

She squeezes his hand. “Let’s call home.”

* * *

By the time John and the others make it back to the hotel, they’re all windswept, their cheeks flushed from the chilly spring breeze outside, laughing a little from nerves and euphoria.

They stand in the deserted lobby for a few minutes, shivering, and John is hit with a sudden longing for his wife (he hopes Louise waited up for him).

He turns to look at Hawk, the way he has been all evening, still not sure he won’t disappear when John’s back is turned.

“I guess this is it,” Hawkeye says after an awkward pause.

“Guess so.”

“You’ll uh…” Hawkeye looks nervous. “You’ll write?”

“Sure.”

They stare at each other for a second, and then they both step forward into a hug. If John closes his eyes, it’s almost like they never left Korea, where all they could depend on was each other.

Hawk’s hug is almost the same, almost enough for John to keep up the pretense, with one key difference- where Hawk would once cup John’s head tenderly in his hand, his arms are now wrapped around John’s shoulders.

And he knows, without asking, that he’s been in love with a memory.

He knows that this is a goodbye.

When they pull away, he clears his throat, and just says, “Listen, uh, if you’re ever down my way…”

“You’ll keep a candle burning for me in a bedpan?” Hawk quips back.

They stare at each other for a second.

“Bye Hawk,” he says softly.

Hawkeye grins. “See you.”

It still makes his heart ache to turn his back on Hawk, to walk towards the elevator and leave him.

But Louise is waiting upstairs, and a warm bed, and tomorrow they’ll be home again (and maybe once he’s home he can find a way to untangle himself from the booze).

Behind him, he hears Hunnicutt ask nervously, “Shall we head upstairs?”

And John smiles to himself, relieved that Hunnicutt – not his replacement, he’s realized, but his successor – has stepped in to look after Hawk.

It’s this that makes him turn around, and look back, meeting Hawk’s eye, wanting that one last sign that everything will be okay.

Hawk grins, and nods, sketching a sarcastic salute, and it’s all the reassurance John needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay, but thank you all for reading! ♥  
> Chapter 17 will be up next Sunday (Oct. 25)


	17. After the Reunion

Hawkeye is feeling a curious mix of elation and anticipation that leaves him nauseous, like he’s standing at the edge of a tall cliff, and one wrong step could send him plummeting to his death.

Or, he thinks to himself, he could make the jump and trust that they’ll catch him. 

The elevator is silent, a Hunnicutt on either side of him, and from the way they’re acting, he can tell he’s not the only one who’s anxious. He knows them well enough to know their nervous tics, to see the anxiety written in the way BJ shifts back and forth from foot to foot, in how Peggy bites at her lower lip.

The elevator doors open on their floor, and they all look at each other in silence.

“Looks like our stop,” Hawkeye says.

“Looks like it,” Peg agrees, stepping out of the elevator.

It’s a short walk down the hall to their adjoining rooms, their footsteps muffled in the carpet, all three of them stopping in front of the Hunnicutts’ door.

“Well,” Hawkeye says, looking between them. “I guess this is goodnight. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all.”

“Then let’s not,” Peg blurts out, looking up at him. “Part, that is.”

“What Peggy’s trying to say is-”

“We’re inviting you inside,” Peg says, and gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

A tightness grows in Hawkeye’s chest, stealing the breath from his lungs, but he still finds it in himself to nod.

He notices, a little absentmindedly, that Peg’s hands are shaking as she unlocks the door.

The room is empty, a single lamp burning on the bedside table, casting a small pool of golden light.

Beside the lamp is a bottle of pilfered champagne.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to take advantage of me?” Hawkeye tries to quip, seeing the bottle.

But when he looks up, neither Peg nor BJ is smiling.

“Uh  _ huh _ . Am I the guest of honour at a surprise mugging or something?”

“Come sit down,” Peggy says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

BJ sits on the bed too, and starts fiddling with the bedspread.

“What’s going on?” Hawk asks, his heart pounding in his ears, and his stomach drops like he’s at the top of a rollercoaster.

“We wanted to talk to you, Hawkeye,” Peggy says.

“Please, Hawk.”

Hawkeye, now feeling more than a little nauseous, hoists himself onto the bed, so that the three of them are sitting almost in a triangle, facing each other.

“What’s all this about?” he asks, sick to his stomach with anticipation and just a tiny bit of hope, “a séance?”

Peg and BJ exchange a look.

“Hawkeye,” Peggy says gently, “We wanted to talk to you about us.”

Hawkeye swallows hard, not sure if he’s heard correctly. “About… us?”

“About you and me and Peggy,” BJ says. “And… what we all mean to each other.”

“Oh. So-”

“Hawkeye,” BJ says softly, his expression tender. “Hawk. I love you.”

Hawkeye blinks, and it takes a second to sink in. The affection in BJ’s voice sends fissures through him that threaten to crack open at the slightest pressure.  _ “What?” _

“God,” BJ laughs a little, tinged with hysteria, shaking his head, and the world is upside down and backwards because BJ- BJ  _ can’t,  _ not with Peggy right here- “I’ve wanted to say that for so long. I love you, Hawkeye Pierce.”

“But… but  _ Peggy,”  _ Hawkeye says, a little helplessly, turning to her, not expecting the tenderness on BJ’s face to be mirrored on hers. It stuns him.

“That’s the funny thing, darling,” she says, and smiles, though she looks close to tears. “I’m in love with you too.”

“I- I don’t-” Hawkeye stammers, afraid of what he's done. “Y-You two love _each other.”_

“Yes,” Peggy says patiently, “And you, darling. You’ve seen  _ Singin’ in the Rain,  _ haven’t you? Did Don love Cosmo less for loving Kathy?”

Hawkeye looks back and forth between them, suddenly aware that he’s clutching the quilt like a lifeline, so afraid that none of this is real, any second now, he’ll open his eyes and be back in the Swamp.

“Hawkeye, if this isn’t something you want,” BJ says, perhaps sensing how overwhelmed Hawkeye is, “if it’s too much-”

“No!” It’s the only thing he can say, the only thing he hears over the blood rushing in his ears, and he doesn’t know if he’s about to cry, laugh, or throw up. “I- I  _ want.” _

“What do you want, Hawk?” BJ asks, taking his hand, grounding him. 

“You.”

BJ can’t hide the relief on his face.

And the truth spills out, a truth Hawk has carried wound around his heart for five years. “Beej, it’s- it’s always been you. And I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” BJ cuts him off. “God, don’t you  _ know? _ You  _ saved  _ me that first day, Hawk. I- I always thought Peg was the one who got me through but- but  _ you did too.” _

This makes Hawk flinch, and he turns to Peggy, afraid of what her reaction will be.

“I never meant...” he says, tears welling up anew, “Peggy, I swear-”

“Shh, darling,” she says, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I know.”

“Nothing  _ happened-” _

“I know.”

Only somewhat reassured, and somewhat dazed, he turns back to BJ. “Beej, I… I was so scared that I only loved you because of that crummy place, because you were the only good thing about it.”

“And-”

“And I came home and I loved you just the same,” Hawkeye says, and then he looks between them. “But I was wrong.”

“About what?” BJ asks, nervously.

“You weren’t the only good thing that came out of that crummy place,” Hawkeye says, and he has to say it, he has to. “I thought that for so long, y’know? But it gave me Peggy too.”

“Oh Hawkeye,” Peggy says, and she starts laughing, ducking her head to hide the fact that she’s close to tears, and Hawkeye’s nausea has turned entirely into butterflies. 

“I love you, Beej,” he says, and it’s a relief to say it. “I’ve loved you all along.”

BJ leans forward, eagerly, cupping Hawkeye’s face in his hands. And then he hesitates, so close to Hawkeye that his breath is warm on Hawkeye’s mouth. “Hawk, if you-”

Hawkeye stops him by reaching up and kissing him.

BJ is still for a second, surprised, and then he kisses Hawkeye back, melts into the kiss.

It’s exactly how Hawkeye thought BJ would kiss, soft and tender- until it turns hungry, passionate, a kiss of newly reunited lovers. In it, Hawkeye feels every single kiss he’s wanted to give BJ over five years, and it makes him dizzy, that for every kiss he wanted to give BJ, BJ wanted to kiss him too.

All those years, all those kisses, in one spectacular, dizzying kiss, BJ’s hands on his face, BJ’s hair soft under Hawkeye’s hand as he cradles BJ’s skull in his hands.

“Ahem.”

He and BJ break apart, both of them pink in the face, smiling shyly at each other in shared awe.

“I believe it’s my turn,” Peggy says, grinning, and then she’s launching herself at him. Hawkeye barely catches her in his arms, her arms draping over his shoulders, his hand coming up to cup her head, her mouth on his a question, and  _ oh _ how he wants to be the answer.

Kissing her isn’t like kissing BJ, but it feels just as right, as if this is what Hawk was always meant to do, as if this is who he was always meant to be.

“I love you,” Peggy says, a little breathlessly, her forehead pressed against his as she breaks the kiss.

“I love you too, Peggy Jane,” he says, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, and he knows it’s true, that Korea may have brought misery and trauma, but from the ashes came something beautiful. He has fallen in love with Peggy and BJ over five years and thousands of miles, and dozens of letters.

They stay like that for a second, breathing each other in, and then Hawk pulls back. “I- I wanna show you guys something.”

And then, staring at the flushed faces of the two people he loves the most, he reaches into his pocket and tugs out his mother’s drawing.

_ I hope you’d be proud of me,  _ he thinks, as he unfolds it, and hands it over.

“What’s this, Hawk?” Beej asks.

“Home,” Hawkeye says, and when they give him a look, he smiles. “Stinson Beach.”

“Your mother drew this,” Peggy says, understanding in her voice.

Hawkeye nods, flushing at the way they smile at him. “Dad figured it was some kind of sign.”

“I’m inclined to think he’s right,” BJ says, and  _ God,  _ Hawkeye loves him, it’s so easy, he loves BJ and he loves Peggy, and that is all there is to it. He’s still a little giddy, and they’re so beautiful in the lamplight, clutching his mother’s drawing with reverence-

“Wait,” he says, and the elation in his chest pops like a soap bubble at the realization, fear tightening his throat. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I can’t…” he trails off, looking between them, because to love them is the best thing he’s ever done- but it’s also the most dangerous. “ _ We  _ can’t.”

“Who says?”

“The  _ law.  _ I- I can’t ask you to do this,” Hawkeye says, horrified. “You can’t risk your whole lives for me.”

“Hawkeye,” Peggy says patiently. “We  _ know  _ the risks.”

“Then you know what loving me means.”

“We do,” BJ says. “And this is worth it, if you’ll have us.”

“I-If I’ll have you,” he repeats.  _ “If I’ll have you?” _

“Hawkeye.” Peggy takes his hand. “Darling, BJ and I already decided that this is worth it, that every…  _ every  _ risk is worth it. But it’s up to you to take it.”

“And what about Erin?”

“We’ll talk to Erin,” BJ says.

“But-”

“Hawkeye, we could hash out every single detail right now,” Peggy says. “Or we could figure it all out later. We have time.”

Hawkeye looks between them, feels his heart crack open, and all he can do is stammer, “You stand to lose a lot by loving me.”

“Maybe,” Peg says.

“But the way we see it,” BJ says, taking his other hand, “we stand to gain a lot more.”

“So what do you say?” Peggy asks.

Hawkeye looks at BJ and Peggy, the two people he loves more than anything, and thinks about a life with them, a life of French toast and laughter, a life of closed doors and pulled curtains. He thinks about how if not for them, he wouldn’t have survived Korea.

And it hits him- he may have saved BJ that first day, but BJ – and Peggy – saved him too.

“Yes,” is all he says.

Peggy whoops, tackling him, knocking him back onto the bed, and then BJ is wrapping his arms around both of them, a laughing, crying, tangled-up mess of limbs and fabric, and he feels safe between them, his  _ family. _

And Hawkeye feels the last piece of himself that he’s been missing since Korea – the last piece of  _ home  _ – fall perfectly into place.

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this story from its earliest days ♥  
> Thanks especially to Blue and Day, my wonderful betas and dearest friends ♥♥  
> And to my readers... until next time!


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